


Other Worlds

by flollius



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fíli Whump, Fíli-centric, Gen, Orcs, Survival story, in fact there are only two characters in the entire fic, like there are no other canon characters in this, more odd-couple tropes than you can shake a stick at
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:56:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flollius/pseuds/flollius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a solitary journey, a young and untested Fili finds himself cornered by an orc on the hunt desperate for his head. In the heat of the fight, both slip and fall from their precarious mountain pass. Lost and injured in a hostile forest, two sworn enemies learn very quickly that they have to work together if they want to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FILI GETS A TURN YAY  
> I don't know what it is about orcs and Durin babies and throwing them together but I obviously have a serious kink about it. I promise though - this one won't run over 500k words. I already have about 40% of it written, it's sort of my play-around thing because odd-couple stories are just SO FUN and I really wanted to write me some Fili because he doesn't ever get the love he deserves.

Rain lashed against Fili’s face, his hair a sopping curtain of gold pressed against his cheeks. He spat out as much as he could, peeled it away with his wrist on the backstroke, and ducked before the creature’s knife sliced through his skin. Although it was only mid-morning, the sky was black and pregnant with stormclouds, blotting the sun and leaving the air as dark and cold as night.

Orcs always struck at night.

The creature had lunged from behind a fold in the rock with a shocking quickness, had Fili on his back with the swords knocked from his hands. Fili was winded, desperate and gasping in a moment of terror as the orc stood on his chest, knife raised, thinking he was going to die. He kicked the orc back, scrabbling for his sword and got clumsily onto his feet. The path seemed as wide as a piece of string. Fili was suspended, pushed up against a sheer rockface with a jagged cliff below, thick with ancient trees thirty feet below. If he fell in, Fili knew he would never get out. Crouched like a beetle or a spider in long sinewy limbs, the orc snarled at him, spitting curses in his foul tongue that were lost in the howling wind. Armed with only a long knife, wearing a hodge-podge of leather and hide that left his limbs bare, the orc kept forcing Fili back, further and further until the worst happened, Fili stepped backwards and found only air. He lost his balance, striking out wildly and finding the orc’s bony wrist.

And they both fell.

* * *

The world seemed a darker when Fili woke, a soft world of pencil-strokes scrawled over in thick, dark ink. It was a dull, hazy sensation that seemed to encompass him, like lying in a shallow eddy of lukewarm water, pushing against the backs of his eyes and thrumming in his chest. Fili floated along in this vague dream, the blurred outlines of his body growing sharper, taking shape. His limbs felt heavy, heavy as stone, pressing into the dirt and leaving an imprint in the shape of his sprawled body. Nothing seemed to move and Fili was still, that misty promise of agony settling down, sinking into his bones.

Fili lay with closed eyes, trying to focus. Something was hurting, swelling, coming into focus. He curled his right hand into a weary fist, and then his left, to make sure the fingers weren't broken, shifted his arms a few inches. The pain wasn't worsening. It wasn't coming from there. It felt lower, below his back and waist, rolling up and over him, an endless tide-pull. Fili sucked in a damp breath of air and tried to move his right leg. Nothing amiss, save that dull lethargy that seemed to have taken his body captive. Fili tried to move the toes of his left foot. The hazy throb that chimed in with his pulse seemed to grow. Steeling himself, Fili tried to move his left leg.

He screamed. It was as though someone held red-hot iron against a severed limb. Fili grabbed handfuls of dirt and rotting leaves as the pain in his leg attacked him. It was being thrust into an open furnace and crushed beneath a dropped anvil all at once. He tried to grit his teeth and ride it out but the shock and agony of his leg pulled him roughly out of that warm shallow water, peeled the skin back from his bones. His forehead pressed firmly against the ground, Fili trembled. _Please_ don’t be broken, he begged inwardly, biting down a whimper. He couldn’t make it out of here on one leg. It came back to him slowly, in bright flashes of white and colour. Fighting on the narrow pass with a lone orc, long and lean with blood-red eyes and a twisted leer that showed a mouthful of jagged teeth, filed and sharpened to a needle-point, and falling, the sound of breaking branches and a horrible _snap_ that rattled in his bones, one he knew now must have been his leg, before the blackness struck.

Fili opened his eyes. Everything was black. He turned his cheek, squinting as a world of green and brown swam before his sight. In time, everything shifted into focus, formless colours blossoming into the shapes of trees and low ferns, carpets of moss and scattered pieces of branch, everything bowed down and limp under the weight of the water. A greyish lump on the edge of his vision made Fili stop. On instinct, he reached for the empty sheath at his hip, knuckles whitening around air. About ten feet away from him, lower half hidden by a thick tree-trunk, the orc was on his back. One arm was twisted gruesomely, wrenched out of its socket with a piece of branch embedded deep into the flesh. Dead, obviously.

Fili moaned, tasting dirt and tried to keep his breathing soft and shallow. Time passed, he wasn’t sure how much. He might have fallen asleep, he didn’t know. It felt as though he was drifting in a little raft on a wide, calm lake. He knew he couldn’t stay here, not like this. He needed to find his pack, his swords. _Move_ , he commanded himself, pressing his forehead against ground, trying to gather his fading strength. The rustling of leaves made every muscle tense in his body, jerking up in shock. This deep, ancient forest-valley, the men in Fornost had said, was crawling with nasty animals that would tear the flesh from his bones, and caves of orcs that would sometimes scour the windswept hills for a feast. Fili thought he was indestructible but now sour fear stuck in his throat and one hand fumbled inside his tunic, searching for his hidden knife as he stared blearily around, looking for the source of the noise.

It was the orc. Fili sucked in a gulp of air through flared nostrils, smelling blood. The creature was groaning, rolling over onto one side. He let out a gasp and jerked up, staring down at his ruined arm. Fili tightened the grip on his knife, watching as the orc cradled the broken limb close now, head bowed, hissing through gritted teeth. Fili bit down hard on his lip and tried very, very slowly to get up on his elbows without making a sound, leg flooded with agony.

The orc tore at one of the loose strips of leather at his waist. Holding his breath, Fili watched the creature tie the coarse hide around his arm in a makeshift tourniquet, pulling tight and holding it in place with his teeth. He took a short, loud breath through his locked jaw, and grabbed at the protruding wood, bracing himself. Fili winced, watching spellbound as the orc fearlessly tore the shard free from his arm with a single, low grunt of pain. Blood oozed sluggishly from the fresh wound, the shoulder mangled and broken. One-handed, he unbound his arm, reached for the little flask slung at his waist. He took a swig and then sloshed a little over his makeshift bandage, pressing it against the open wound with a sharp hiss. Fili watched the whole thing silently, arms shaking with the effort to remain tense and still.

A twig snapped beneath his hand. Fili froze and with a gasp, the orc looked up from his broken arm and across the clearing. Their eyes met. Fili stared at him, the narrow eyes with irises the colour of blood, the slits for noses and the hair-thin lips in a greyish-green face, the colour of rotted skin, stomach curdling in disgust. He wasn’t going to go down to this filth, leg or not. The orc looked as though he had the same idea. He crouched into a fighting stance, teeth bared, jagged and sharp. The bad arm dangled uselessly at his side, the good closing around a piece of branch. Fili tried to get up on his good knee, dragging his broken leg along the ground, brandishing the blade uselessly, his wrist slack and arm still shaking.

With blood on his teeth, the orc swung his club, lurching, his makeshift weapon raised to shoulder-height. “ _Skaamaut,_ _gazatbag_.” He spat, clotted black blood hitting the ground near Fili’s hands. The orc stopped just before him, raising the branch over his head in a blow aimed at Fili’s skull. Fili lashed out with his knife but the agile creature side-stepped him, bringing his makeshift club down. Fili rolled out of the way, onto his back, a scream of pain ripping from his throat, rasping, leaving him hoarse. The orc growled, raised his club again, but this time a dense, heavy roar came from their far left, breaking through the distant patter of rain on leaves and the whisper of touching branches. He stepped back, the good arm lowering and narrow eyes wide with fright.

“ _Olog_ ,” He whispered, every muscle straining against his rot-coloured skin. His eyes then fell on the only tempered weapon either of them still had – Fili’s knife, locked in his shaking grip. The orc pounced, his talon-sharp nails scratching at Fili’s hands.

“No – let me _go!”_ Fili clutched the precious blade close to his chest, bile rushing in his gut as he kicked out on instinct, stars prickling the edge of his vision from his broken leg. Still on his back, he punched the orc in the broken shoulder. “Don’t _touch_ me!” Fili spat with all the strength he could muster, face bone-white and grip as weak as a child’s. The orc cried out, more high-pitched than Fili expected, but seized the knife. He rested on Fili’s chest, pinning his arms to the ground, the dwarvish blade pressed against his throat.

“N-No – please,” Fili gasped, trying to twist and jerk free, shaking. “D-Don’t kill me—” The orc’s ugly snarl deepened. “You can ransom me – my uncle, he’s rich, he’ll pay, he’ll give you more gold than you can imagine.” The knife slackened a degree against his skin, those blood-red eyes fixed on him. “I swear, my family – they’ll pay.” The orc looked him up and down, his fur-lined coat and heavy vambraces, the clasps of silver in his hair and beard. “Please. _Please.”_ Fili’s heart was a roaring, deafening drum-beat in his ears. “Please.”

“I can imagine a lot of gold.” The orc finally spoke in his tongue, voice sharp and grating as nails on bare rock. Fili let out an involuntary whimper as the knife dug further against his throat. “Who’s your rich uncle, then?”

“Th-Thorin Oakenshield.” Fili whispered, hating himself for doing it. The orc stared down at him, a sneer twisting his face.

“He’s not rich. He’s an exile and a vagrant.”

“No!” Fili was too afraid to move now – every inch he moved brought that knife deeper and deeper into his neck. A red line was welling up with the distant sting of a finger-nail scratch. “I promise – we’ve had good trades, good harvests, and our gold-hoard is bigger than it’s been in decades.”

The sneer grew disinterested and patronising. “You’re lying.” Fili swallowed, too scared to shake his head.

“I-If you kill me,” he licked his lips, “then you won’t know, will you?” In response, the orc jabbed the point of his knife into his neck, just nicking the skin. “I-I can help you!” Panicking, Fili fixed his gaze on the orc’s wrecked shoulder, scrabbling at a last thread of safety. “I can fix your arm.”

The knife withdrew, but remained half an inch from Fili’s neck. “How.” The orc asked the question flatly, eyes dead and soulless, staring into Fili’s own.

“M-My younger brother, he did the same thing, when-when he was little,” Fili spoke without breathing, stumbling over his own words. “Fell down a mine-shaft and wrenched his arm out – I was there when Óin – when he put it back – back in place and I looked after him – I took care of him.” The low rushing in his ears grew louder, almost displacing his racing heart. The rest of the world grew warped and black, and there was only those flat, disinterested eyes, watching him, judging his words, deciding in a heartbeat if he could live or die. “Please – don’t do this. Not like this.”

The orc stared down at him, looking at his thin beard, just coming in really, soft and thin and golden, his face still round and plump. He for what felt like forever, wrapped in utter silence. A frown slowly grew on his emotionless face, the thin lips curling into a snarl. Fili held his breath, thinking it was going to be all over as the knife dug against his throat again, preventing him from moving. The orc’s hand shook, and that angry, furrowed stare was pulled wide open, the creature turning to one side, pulling the blade away and thrusting it into the dirt, right up to the hilt. “ _Fuck.”_ He hissed to himself, teeth gritted in self-disgust. Slowly, Fili let out his held breath, curling his trapped hands into fists. _He couldn’t do it._ The orc couldn’t kill him.

“Just let me—”

“How old are you.” Fili fell silent as the orc grabbed the front of his shirt, twisting hard until he was almost choking him, the knife still embedded in the ground.

“F-Forty-six.” He croaked.

That flat, rot-coloured face sagged in dismay. “A baby.” The orc hissed. “A fucking _baby_.” He scowled, staring out at nearly nest of ferns while he rolled the dwarf around and around in his head. “Shut up and listen.” The tar-like, iron scent of orc-blood washed over Fili’s face. The creature licked his lips, puffing up his shoulders in a quick intake of air. “This forest – the _ulkûrz_ _tau,_ is almost a hundred miles wide and twice as long and it is _crawling_ with every breed of troll, ogre, warg, bear and beast you can think of. I’m no safer than you out here.” A greyish tongue escape, trapped between two rows of sharp, filed teeth in thought. “Are you serious about fixing my arm?” Fili nodded, very carefully. “You know how to survive in the forest? Know how to hunt, what’s poisonous and how to track a path?” He knew all about it on paper, but was almost completely inexperienced on his own. He nodded anyway, visibly less sure of himself. The tongue disappeared. “If you fix me, help me gather food and build shelter, and split the night-watch, then when we get out of here, then you’ll see your uncle again – if he makes good on your promise of gold.”

Fili’s mouth shook, and he refused at first to believe it. “You’re not going to kill me?” he croaked. Now that he was still and the rush of imminent that pounded through his veins was fading, the broken leg was starting to hurt again, coming in heavy, rolling waves up his body. He fought back the shaking, his breath coming out in little gasps and grunts from the effort.

“You’re a child.” The orc spat. “I’m not killing an injured child.” Fili stared, wondered how young this spindly creature was himself, but held his tongue. “But if you try _anything_ – if you try to hurt me or run away, I swear dwarf, I will kill you then.” He leaned in, their noses very close. “Understand?”

“Yes,” Fili gasped, breathless. “I understand perfectly.” The orc stared at him, sharp and mistrusting and with a little grunt, withdrew. He crawled off of Fili, who slumped backwards at the loss of weight, blood rushing to his fingers, hot and throbbing. He grabbed Fili’s arm, encouraged him to sit up and knelt before him, the broken limb sticking out awkwardly in Fili’s direction.

“Go on then,” He spoke shortly, jerking his head down. Fili licked his dry lips, leaning forward a little and taking the orc’s bony arm, touching it first, testing the muscles and tendons. There was a little jump in his chest at the sensation of skin on skin. It looked coarse and grey as a lizard, almost scaly, and it was a little surprise to touch the orc and feel warmth, soft, totally hairless skin beneath his fingertips. Casting his mind back fifteen years, he tried to remember sitting beside his bare-faced, howling brother, cradling the dislocated arm close while Óin tried to straighten it out. His shaking fingers brushed the joint, the orc’s face flickering, shadowed with pain.

“Just – hold still.” Fili pressed one hand on the orc’s shoulder, taking his elbow. Their eyes met for a moment, red and blue, both wide at that moment, the whites gleaming in the soft, afternoon light. Keeping the pressure on the elbow, Fili brought the arm around in a wide circle, holding his breath and listening for the soft click of a reset bone. Beneath his hand, he felt the abrupt little shift, softer than the snapping of fingers. The orc let out a single, short grunt, eyes screwed shut. “It’s in, I think.” Fili tested the joint with as much care as he could, withdrawing, satisfied. “It’s in. You need something to wrap it – it’ll be weeks before you can lift or move it properly.”

“My belt.” He fumbled with the clasp one-handed, pulling it off. Fili took the strip of beaten leather and fastened it diagonally along his torso, pinning the limb across his stomach. “This better work.” He snarled at Fili, eyes flashing. “If I lose the arm...”

“You won’t.” Fili swallowed hard, a hot, sour taste spreading across his tongue. “You won’t.” He looked down at his own leg, twisted at an extreme angle that looked so broken and _wrong_ that it made his stomach turn. “Can you...” He couldn’t reach the calf.

“Sit back.” The orc was already down on at Fili’s knees, the knife pale in the gloom. Fili leaned back on his hands. The blade sliced easily through the tattered cloth, wet and sticky with blood. He peeled the fabric away, biting his thin lip at the sight of Fili’s broken leg.

He could see _bone._ “Oh shit.” Fili gasped. An inch of white flashed in a hand-span of pulpy reddish black, jutting out from the skin. His leg-bone was snapped entirely in half. “Oh no. No.”

“You’ll be lucky to keep the damn thing.” The orc muttered. “Break this in half.” He handed Fili the sturdy branch. The dwarf cracked it over his good knee. “And have a mouthful of this. A big one.” Fili took the squat little flask, raising it suspiciously to his lips. It was a strong liquor, thick as oil down his throat and bitterly sharp. He choked, sputtering and coughing as his mouth burned. “ _Careful_ , will you?”

“Wh-What the hell is that?” Fili handed it back, wiping at his lips. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to get the awful taste out as the molten heat flooded his chest, pooling in his stomach and slowly spreading.

“ _Akrum.”_ The orc muttered, not looking at Fili. He took the cleanest handful of his trouser cloth, wetting it. “You might want to bite down on something. And _keep still._ ”

Fili screamed, piercing the stout leather of his vambrace as the orc pressed the sodden cloth against the open wound. Keeping his leg still took all the strength and will he had left, the other drawn up to his chest, the toes curling, cramping the tendons in his foot. He withstood the necessary torture somehow, one hand tugging at a handful of golden hair, right down to the roots until his scalp was burning, forehead pressed against a shaking knee.

“I need your hand.” Fili lifted his wet face, feeling light-headed. The liquor had dulled his senses but nowhere near enough. “Are – are you crying?” Fili wiped at his cheeks quickly, shaking his head, eyes still bright and leaking. “Look, hold your leg just below the knee and I’ll push it back in. You’ll have to splint it.” His mouth quivering, Fili nodded.

He didn’t think it was possible to hurt any worse than before – but it _did_. Fili squeezed hard, cutting off the circulation as another hoarse scream was torn from his throat. He slumped forward, sapped of strength and wrung out. Hi breath hitched at the thin hand on his shoulder, shaking roughly. “Will you _stop_ screaming?” The orc hissed. “We’ll be caught.”

Fili didn’t deign to answer. Using the torn strips of his trouser-leg, he bound up the broken leg as best he could, hands stumbling over the knots and head swimming again. “Do you know the way?” When he was done, Fili looked up at the creature with his nails digging into his palms. He sized him up, the ropey muscles of his good arm, bare to the shoulder, the lean, powerful legs that could outpace him with ease. There was no running away from this, even if he was uninjured, even if he knew where to go, there was no way he could escape from this creature.

The orc looked up at the leafy canopy for a moment. “I can figure it out.” He held out a clawed hand. “There’s a way out across the river, about seventy miles east that will take us to the bottom of the valley.”

“Seventy miles?” Fili echoed, feeling faint. That would take a week on his leg. Thorin would be missing him before then, he would be sending out search parties and _Mahal,_ what if they met the same end? This orc couldn’t be the only one skulking around the passes –there would be dozens in their dark, slimy little holes, lying in wait for a feast. What if they came for Thorin, and Dwalin and the rest too? What if they were ambushed in their search for them, and nobody made it come? Guilt burned in his chest, hot as flame at the thought. What if he had single-handedly doomed everyone with his own rash stupidity?

“Come on, get up.” The orc pulled himself to his feet, offering his hand. Fili stared at the rot-coloured skin, fingers black with his dried blood, nails the curved, sharp talons of a beast. “We need to build a shelter at least a mile upwind of here, our blood is all over the place.” Fili took the scaly-looking hand all the same, gasping as he was hauled to his feet. He wavered, and the orc draped his good arm across Fili’s back, under his arms. “Put the other arm around me.” He commanded. Fili cautiously wound his arm around the orc’s neck, feeling the edges of rough leather through his fur-lined coat, his fingertips on skin. He put a lot of weight on the orc’s bad shoulder, but if it hurt, the creature didn’t show it. He merely shook his head with a little curl of the lip, blinking the pain away.

Fili looked back at the mess of leaves splattered with his blood. “My knife—”

“Don’t even _think_ about it.” Fili winced at the harsh voice and with a deep breath took his first painful step. He cried out in the shock, and to his eternal shame, pressed his forehead against the bony crevice of the orc’s collarbone, trying to breathe through the agony. The orc stopped and sighed. “C’mon _snaaghru_ , we need to get away far enough to lose the blood-scent before nightfall. Suck it up and whimper about it later.” The orc pulled Fili along, the dwarf hopping to try and keep up. “Make a crutch tomorrow and start walking yourself.”

Tomorrow. He couldn’t even think that far ahead, it seemed such a distant, faraway possibility. Making it through tonight seemed impossible, trapped in this dense, suffocating forest with a feral, bloodthirsty creature who was one glance, one mistaken gesture away from killing him. He couldn’t even _think_ about facing Thorin – he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here, and if his foolishness was going to cost their entire gold-hoard... Fili would never live down the shame brought on his head.

So with his heart beating in his mouth, Fili began his stumbling march through the unknown forest.


	2. Chapter 2

Fili went on, and on, and on. His leg hurt badly, he couldn’t walk faster than a stilted shuffle, draped against the orc’s side with the hollow of his cheek pressed against his shoulder. Occasionally the creature grunted in pain, the little wrinkle between those blood-red eyes getting deeper and deeper. Fili knew he was hurting him, that his weight was too much to bear, but the pair didn’t stop, not yet. He seemed to be looking for something, arching up to look at the treetops, looking back over his shoulder with a low snarl of thought curling those lips.

Fili tried not to let his guard down for a single moment. He wore his courage like armour, sturdy and faultless without a chink or weakness in the metal plating, able to withstand the hardest blow. Fili’s body was exhausted but the mind was alive, his own blue eyes darting rapidly from side to side. It was instinctive of him to try and map out some sort of escape route, even though Fili knew it was fruitless. He wouldn’t get more than half a step before the orc would stick him with that long, sharp dagger, or get his hands around Fili’s neck, nails digging in, drawing blood. His mind, his wit and cunning was all Fili had left, trapped inside this crippled, broken body.

Finally, the orc slowed to a stop, unwinding Fili’s arm from his shoulders. He still held on, grabbing the soft leather of his shirt. “Wait.” His torso heaved and he cupped that long-fingered hand. A howl erupted, long and lonely, sending shivers down the back of Fili’s spine. It sounded almost  exactly like the cry of a real warg, separated from the rest of its pack, alone and confused and unable to find its way home.

The blood went cold in Fili’s veins. “What do you think you’re—”

“Shh!” The orc hissed, glaring at him through the shadowy gloom. “Be quiet.” With those eyes looking up at the treetops, every muscle was pulled tight, an arrow on the string pulled back to the archer’s ear. The creature was waiting for a response. Fili’s hands curled tight into the leather, teeth gritted. He was  summoning them.

The howl came from the distance, thin as a gust of wind. Fili thought he may have imagined it, but the muscles snapped beneath his hands as the orc jerked in his shock. He howled again, the sound tearing right into Fili’s gut. His head was cocked to one side, listening intently. The response reminded Fili of a child’s wail, in a house down the street during the dead of night, when the rest of the world was asleep.

“It’s about a mile off.” His adam’s apple bobbed in a hard swallow. “East, from the caves in the hillside. Just one, either a mother and her cubs or a lone hunter.” He muttered to himself, eyes darting from side to side in thought. “Can’t tell from this distance.”

“It’s going to come for us.” Fili whispered. “What have you done?”

“We don’t know that. ‘sides, it’s better to know for sure something is coming than getting caught unawares. Here.” A rot-coloured fist slammed against the broad tree-trunk and he pulled away from Fili. “Can you climb?”

“Huh?” Fili leaned against the tree, palms flat on the bark. “The tree?” He stumbled over his words, feeling dazed.

“Are you slow? Of course the tree.” The orc grabbed a low-hanging branch with one hand, hauling himself up clumsily, muscles trembling with the effort. “I can’t lift you up with one arm.”

He licked his lips. “I-I think I can.” Fili took a breath and tried to jump on his good leg, reaching out for the branch. His fingers scraped against the rough bark with a wince and FIli landed heavily, trying to keep the bad leg out, bent at an awkward angle. He gritted his teeth and swallowed back the scream, refusing to allow another moment of weakness to slip out. With sweat gathering on his temples, Fili tried again. This time, he was able to get a grip, handing suspended in mid-air. As witless and inept as a child, Fili hooked one arm over the branch and tied to haul himself up with the upper limbs. The orc already waited for him fifteen feet up, straddling a branch and leaning against the trunk. Fili looked up and gritted his teeth. He would make it.

It was slow, painful going. Fili stopped a few times, his head bent so the orc couldn’t see the screwed-up, muffled howls that he pressed against his sleeve. His head screamed for relief, his mouth was as dry as sun-bleached bone and his stomach ached. Fili just wanted to  sleep , to be home in bed, his belly full of one of Mama’s soups, Kili gabbling beside him about everything and nothing all at once, the smell of Thorin’s tobacco floating in from under the gap in the door. Thinking about it now, it almost broke him for a moment. Fili’s hand faltered and he held on tight with the other, heart pounding as he thought for a terrifying second that he was going to fall. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, just trying to breathe. No – he  would  go home and see Mama and Kili and Thorin again, he was going to tell them all about how he escaped from one of the darkest forests in all of Middle-Earth, even on a broken leg. He wasn’t going to die like this, lost and alone and broken. He was only forty-six.

Slowly, Fili opened his eyes. Above him, the orc let out a sigh of annoyance. “Are you coming up?” He nodded, staring at the jagged bark.

“Yes.” Holding his breath, Fili reached out, hands closing around another branch. His arms felt stuffed with straw, floppy, useless, drained of any strength. Finally, Fili was on the orc’s level, perched on a heavy branch three feet away, side slumped against the tree. His face scraped against the bark, eyes half-lidded. Already, he struggled to stay awake.

“Here.” Fili felt a little push at his arm. “Eat this.” He opened his eyes to see a strip of dried meat, greyish and limp in the fading light. “You need to keep your strength up.” 

Instantly, he was on his guard. “What is it?”

“Just eat it, will you? We’ll forage tomorrow, but if you don’t have anything now, you’ll be useless in the morning.” His throat tight, Fili took it, giving the jerky an experimental sniff. “I’ll force-feed you if you don’t shove it in your gob.” 

Fili swallowed. Holding his nose, he started to eat slowly, cringing away at the taste spreading across his tongue. He tried to place that sharp, metallic tang, hoping that it was just something relatively harmless like wolf or bear, or even horse. The filth wouldn’t  dare to feed him anything worse - would he?

After he finished, chomping through it as quick as he could so it would just be  over , Fili wiped at his mouth, turning his face a little to one side. “So then - what was that?”

“Huh?” He saw a pale shape move in the gloom. “Oh, some wandering ranger I found a couple of weeks ago.”

Fili jerked on the branch and clutched at his stomach as horror rushed through him. “What?” He gasped, feeling his gut lurch with nausea. No - no it couldn’t, he  didn’t.  It was impossible to imagine anything more horrific, even just a few tiny, dried-out mouthfuls. The orc was totally silent for a moment, until a snigger broke through the muffled silence. 

“It’s just goat you idiot. Shit, you think I would- Hey!” Fili retched as the nausea swelled up his chest, struggling to hold it down. “Don’t waste it.”

“That’s not funny.” Fili choked through sharp, heaving coughs. “I really thought…” 

“It’s a kid I trapped a few weeks ago. There isn't much left though. I went a bit hard in the first few days, thinking I’d get something else, but those mountains are a nightmare.  Relax will you?” Fili swallowed hard, hunched over with his knuckles white on the branch. “It’s a  little bit funny.”

“How can you  joke about that?” Fili spat. “It’s disgusting - they’re  people , you know, it’s not right, ever. I’d rather starve than even consider…” He trailed off with a shudder, unable to finish it.

“We’re all just bags of meat and bones.” The orc swung a long leg idly, in and out. “It tastes just like pork anyway. Tough pork.” He snickered, meeting a stony silence. “Oh, look, I’ve only eaten it once anyway, at a wedding. I don’t see the problem with wasting good meat. They’re dead anyway, aren’t they? And hey,” his tone darkened. “We’ve lost far more orcs in the last few years than these hills have lost men and dwarves.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Fili spoke very quietly, homesick and frightened. What if his creature got too hungry, decided the gold wasn’t worth it, and…

“Fine.” He sighed, the pair falling silent as the shadows deepened around them. Fili’s eyes began to droop again, as the discomfort eased in his stomach and limbs grew heavy. He found himself nodding off on the branch and jerking awake again at every rustle and shift on the branch. “Just go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch.” The orc picked at one of those sharp talons with his thumb. “Use your belt to tie an arm to the branch, unless you want to fall to your death.” Fili obeyed with a sleepy nod, winding the leather three times around a branch and shoulder-level and buckling his left wrist in. He sat with his legs drawn up, resting carefully on another branch and curled in on himself, cheek against the tree-trunk with his shoulders hunched. Oh, he was so, so very tired.

With his face turned up to the sky, searching for a glimpse of starlight, the orc swung one of his long legs idly, a pale, mottled shape in the deepening shadows. Fili stared through his cracked eyes until exhaustion carried him away, the battered guards around himself falling down, frail as paper-thin glass laced with spider-web cracks.

 

* * *

He heard howling, swearing in a low muttered tongue that was utterly foreign to him, the rising swell of flame bursting behind closed eyelids. It was a blurred, hopeless jumble of colour and sound, rising and rising to a deafening scream in his ears. Fili started, wrapped up in his violent nightmare that broke with a choked cry, agony rushing up his leg.

Fili’s eyes opened to a black reality. The orc’s hand was plastered hard over his mouth, a low, wet breathing heavy in his ear. He leaned over Fili, perched like a bird on the branch and gripping a handful of leaves over their heads. “Don’t make a sound.” The broken leg was dangling, throbbing blindly. Fili’s breath roared in and out of his nose and the orc hissed, nails digging into his cheek. “Shut  up you lump. I know it hurts but the warg is sniffing about on the ground. It can smell us but not hear us yet.” His whisper-soft breath was low in Fili’s ear. After a moment silence, Fili heard it, scratching and snuffling in the leaves below. His free hand stretched out on instinct, closing around the orc’s shoulder and holding on tight.

The warg snuffled about a little more, pawed in the grass, but another howl, somewhere far off in the distance, made it stop. There was a short, sharp bark, one that rattled Fili’s bones and made the orc jump a little in his crouch. The creature took off, heavy paws thundering on the ground and growing distant, fading into silence. When he seemed sure it was safe, the orc slowly lifted his hand away. Fili licked his dry lips and squinted through the darkness at the vague shape before him, letting go and rubbing his palm on his trousers. “How late is it?”

“I think the moon’s set.” The creature whispered back. “Dawn in a few hours.”

“Get some sleep.” Fili gritted his teeth as another wave of pain shot up his leg. “I’ll take the rest of the night.”

He laughed, low and harsh in the blackness, settling in behind the dwarf so they were back-to-back. “I plan to. Buckle me in?” Fili sat up, flexing his stiff wrist and curling it into a cold fist. He unbuckled the trapped limb and stretched up as best he could, finding the orc’s wrist in the darkness and running his fingers along the branch. “Not too tight.” Fili rubbed his hands together, breathing against his icy fingers. He leaned down and gripped his bad leg, slowly lighting it up and up and up to meet its twin, hissing through gritted teeth.

“I can’t stand it.” Fili moaned, pressing his face against the bark. The orc made a low noise in his throat, something between a snort and a growl. “I’d rather have no leg than this.”

“That can be arranged if you don’t shut up.” The orc muttered. “If you hear  anything out of the ordinary, wake me. Otherwise keep  quiet or I’ll push you off.” Fili’s muscles went rigid for a moment, and he brought his good leg up a little closer, wrapping his arms around himself, head bent. There was a short, chilly silence.

“My arm hurts too, you know, but I’m not pissing about it.” The orc spoke up. Fili looked over his shoulder at the misshapen inkstain against the trunk. But he didn’t say anything else, and soon there was nothing but slow, heavy breathing to listen to in the still and soundless night.

 

* * *

“Found these.” Fili’s head jerked up as the orc walked back into the clearing, three whitish-brown mushroom heads in his claws. “I’ve had four already, so take ‘em.” He set down his knife and ate greedily, smearing fresh dirt across his face. “There’s nothing in them, but you might trick your stomach into thinking you’ve had a meal.” He sat cross legged before Fili, rubbing at his shoulder. It seemed swollen and discoloured, but he couldn’t be sure. The orc toyed with the sticks of wood Fili had been carving, mildly interested. “How’s the crutch coming?”

“I think it’s going to hold me.” Fili was sitting with his head bent, the bad leg stretched out. He took two sturdy staffs of wood, bored holes into them and whittled pieces of branch until they just fit. “Find any water?”

The orc shook his head, fiddling with a discarded piece of stick. Fili’s dry tongue scraped the roof of his mouth. “Can’t be more than a day or two away from the river.” Fili kept his hands busy, trying to ignore the prickling on the back of his neck as the orc stared at him. It was a stiff, chilly night that had Fili on edge. Every gust of wind, rustle of a leaf, made his heart leap in his throat, useless eyes darting wildly. Even though he had his fur-lined coat, he was cold and Fili could only guess how the bare-limbed orc was feeling. He touched the creatures shoulder, the good one, and found it frozen to the touch, the surprisingly smooth skin trembling.

And Fili thought. It helped a little, getting his mind away from his leg. He thought a bit about his family, but it hurt too much to remember them, to wonder if he would ever see them again, what they would be doing now, wrapped up their warm, domestic little lives. Fili found himself holding a hand over his chest, as though trying to stop an open wound. So he turned his head away from it. He looked over his shoulder again, felt the slow rising and falling of the orc’s lean body pressed against his back, and slowly wondered. He wondered what his name was, what he was like, if he had a family, a home, siblings, a lover. He sank deep, and when he realised just what he was doing and how  wrong it all was, Fili had to drag himself out, knee-high in a muddy bog that threatened to suck him in deeper and deeper.  You can’t do that , he told himself. Mahal, it was an  orc , someone who would stick him in his sleep if given the chance, who  ate people and wore their bones, who engaged in the deepest, most depraved acts that made his kin pale and turn away at the thought of it.

Fili tried to be practical, like the orc was being. He tried to gather his thoughts together, peer through the thick nest of branches and leaves over his head for a shifting glimpse of the stars, hoping to catch one of the handfuls of constellations that he actually knew. He took stock of what he had in his pockets; a whetstone, a flint, a bit of string, a spare button. It had to be useful somehow. He was resolved – Fili  wasn’t  going to wind up in some orcish cooking-pot. This beast wasn’t going to get the better of him.

But when he saw the creature in the morning, rubbing his shoulder and shaking his head in obvious exhaustion, Fili couldn’t stop the little pang in his chest. The orc helped him out, guiding his good leg to the next free branch while he balanced in a precarious crouch. He gave Fili back his knife, found an armload of good sturdy sticks, and left him there, calling over his shoulder that he was off to try and find some food. As the air grew lighter and the blood warmed in Fili’s limbs, he found himself wondering about the orc again, and this time he let his mind go on, unfettered.

The curiosity got the better of him, and now he set his hands down, tilting his head a little to one side, staring at the orc. “What’s your name?” It was the first thing Fili wanted to know. He wanted something to  call this creature, other than the mumbled ‘hey’ or ‘you’ he’d been resorted to using. The orc drew back at his question and looked away, staring off into the trees.

“Gîrakûn.” He finally muttered, baring those fang-like teeth as he spoke.

“Gur- what?” Fili frowned. “Say it again.”

“Gîrakûn.” He repeated, putting emphasis on the vowels. “Orcish vowels are hard, you have to put your tongue forward.” He was scrawling in the dirt with his nub of a stick now, those blood-red eyes fixed on his shapeless drawings. 

“Giraka- I can’t. Don’t you have a nickname or something? It’s  such  a long name. Can I call you something else for short?” The orc lifted his head, that flattish nose wrinkled as though he smelled something disgusting.

“What’s your name.” He kept his voice flat. Fili’s lip twitched in a smile, feeling a little better, that they had crossed something, found a common interest, a little thread of humanity that they both shared.

“Fili.” He toyed with the hem of his sleeve. “It means—”

“That’s too hard.” Gîrakûn mimicked Fili, eyes narrowed. “Can I call you shithead for short?” Fili froze, mouth half-open and his shoulders slumped in a short sigh. Oh.

“All right, I get it. I didn’t—”

“My name is Gîrakûn. Either use it or don’t, but if you  dare  butcher it in some sort of common-tongue nickname I’ll knock your teeth out.” His knuckles flexed around the piece of stick. “Understand?”

Fili nodded. “Yes.” He mumbled like a scolded child, picking up his knife and returning to the work on his crutch. Gîrakûn watched him, leaning a propped-up hand with his lower lip jutting out. Fili gave him little looks out of the corner of his eye, itching to ask another question until it all grew too much again. “So er, Gi-Gîrakûn,” Fili cleared his throat as the orc lifted his head. “What does it mean? Your name.”

Gîrakûn smirked, indulging him. “It’s a name for a falcon or hawk. Any predator bird really, the kind that swoop down and rip your guts out.” He made a slashing motion with the stick to prove his point. His voice was harsh and ugly again, making Fili’s toes curl in his boots. “Now hurry up with that damn crutch, we’ve got to keep moving.”

Fili remained silent, eyes fixed on his work. He fitted the beams together, knocked it home with a rock. Gîrakûn left for a short time and came back to see Fili sitting with his new crutch stretched across his lap.

“Finished?” Without waiting for an answer, he held out his unbound hand. “Up then, let’s get on with it.” Fili licked his lips and gripped the orc’s wrist. Slowly, he rose to his foot and put the crutch down, leaning on it with a little grunt. “Will it hold?”

“Should do.” Shrugging away from the orc, Fili attempted a few shaky steps. It wasn’t as fast as a walk by any means, but it was a lot quicker than the two of them stumbling along arm-in-arm. “Still hurts but it’s not so bad.”

“Good.” The orc marched off, looking briefly over his shoulder. “Hurry up then.”

 

* * *

They walked slowly, resting often. Both were hungry, desperate for water, weary and in pain. In the early afternoon, Fili stumbled. He wasn’t used to the crutch yet, his arm was trembling from the strain and the muscles in his side were pulled and aching. The crutch slipped on a loose stone and Fili went down with a cry, throwing out his hands to try and save himself. Gîrakûn, walking right beside him, managed to bend down on one knee and get his weight under Fili, catching the heavy body one-armed. They were both half-sprawled, Fili’s forehead against the orc’s collarbone trying to ride out the agony, Gîrakûn’s arm around his waist. Fili thought he would push him away with disgust and spring to his feet, but Gîrakûn remained motionless in the dirt, their heavy breathing the only sound in the old, lonely forest.

Fili lifted his head, and with a shrinking tightness in his stomach, saw the defeat, pain and exhaustion that filled him up reflected in the orc’s angular features. He wasn’t expecting  that.  His eyes were half-lidded, staring blindly into the greyish dimness. Gîrakûn’s gaze flickered down and saw him, the muscles lax in his face.

“We have to keep moving.” Fili whispered hopelessly. Those blood-red eyes slid closed, lids screwed up in a flash of pain and after a moment, Gîrakûn nodded. He untangled himself and slid out from underneath the dwarf, arm stretched out. “We’ll be at the river soon. There’ll be water, and fish, and cress and weeds. We just need to get to the river.” On his feet, Fili leaned against the orc’s shoulder, waiting for the sharp stabbing in his leg to dull. Gîrakûn felt light and frail under his weight, a tiny sapling with branches as thin as needles.

Near sundown, Gîrakûn finally called a stop to their stumbling march. They sat down in the roots of a broad tree, not quite a clearing but space enough for the two of them to sit with their legs stretched out, arms touching. Fili looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the sky, and Gîrakûn peered through the shadows, listening for any unusual sounds. He leaped up out of nowhere, startling Fili and hurting his leg. He yelled and gripped his knee on reflex, watching the orc dart through a the loose weave of trees and throw himself down on his knees twenty-five feet away from Fili.

“ Got  you, little shit – hey Fili, we’re eating tonight!” His gleeful voice rang out in the cool air as he used Fili’s name for the very first time. It sounded  strange coming from that harsh, guttural tongue, the word-sounds all twisted and mangled. It made Fili shudder and he wondered if that was how Gîrakûn felt, whenever Fili tried to wrap his tongue around the orc’s long name. He came back with something in the shredded leathers he wore on his legs, and stopping a few feet from Fili, the orc let it fall with a little  thump  and Fili looked. The balled figure of a still-alive hedgehog.

Fili was too hungry to care. His eyes gleamed as he reached out, grinning. “You’ll have to gut it.” Gîrakûn shrugged pointedly, kicking the creature towards Fili. “I trust you’re not squeamish.”

“Never.” Fili reached for his returned knife, back in its old sheath inside his coat. “You gather kindling and I’ll—”

“No.” Gîrakûn interrupted sharply. “No fires.” Fili stilled. “The smell of smoke and meat will attract wild beasts. They’re probably already tracking us and I don’t want to give them a beacon. We eat it raw.”

Fili’s voice stuck in his throat and he managed only a dry nod. It was nasty, nasty work. He killed the rodent quickly and they took turns sucking the blood, wetting their chapped lips and taking in big gulps of air afterwards. That was the easy part. Worse was skinning and gutting the little thing, taking out the bones. There was only a handful of muscles in the end, still warm and leaking blood over Fili’s hands.

“What are you waiting for?” Gîrakûn swallowed his share whole, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. “Eat it while it’s still warm, goes down better.” Fili swallowed, staring at the poor, dismembered little creature in pieces on the ground, spoils hanging in strips over his splayed fingers.

“I can’t.” Fili’s stomach turned at the thought and he held his hands out to the orc. “You eat it – I can’t, not if it hasn’t been cooked—”

“Eat it.” Gîrakûn pushed Fili’s hand back into his chest. “I’m saving what’s left of the goat for as long as I can and you need strength. It’s not so bad, kind of juicy. I’ve had worse, no doubt. Almost sweet.” Fili paled and he pushed the back of one gory hand against his mouth. “What – have you never had raw meat before?” A grin spread across the orc’s face. “You soft, that it?”

“No – I just... Oh, look, fine.” Holding his nose, Fili shovelled it in, trying his best to avoid chewing and swallowing. It was damp and lukewarm and oddly greasy, sticking in his throat. It was like swallowing a handful of live worms or slimy grubs, or cold, congealing boiled eggs. Bile rushed. “ Ugh!”  He gagged, clutching at his stomach as he fought over the raw flesh in his gut. Gîrakûn gripped his shoulder and forced him lift his head, back up against the tree-trunk.

“Hold it down.” He instructed. “First time’s the worst, but if you keep it in you, the next time’ll be easier. You can’t afford to throw it all up now.” Damply, Fili nodded, turning his face to stare at the orc. “Keep swallowing.” He nodded again, wiping at the growing sweat on his face and unwittingly smearing blood over his temples. Gîrakûn snorted and wiped it away with his thumb. “Such a  snaaghru.  Thought you weren’t squeamish.”

“Shut up.” Fili moaned with his neck arched back, eyes closed. “I’m not  used to raw flesh. Where I come from, we cook our meat before eating it.”

“Even trolls know to cook their grub first.” Gîrakûn remarked, licking at his bloodied thumb. “I’m not  savage Fili.” He rubbed at his shoulder, eyes shadowed in pain. Fili stared with his face turned to the side, brushing back his curls.

“Come here.” He spoke up after a moment of awkward silence, feeling a twinge of pity in his stomach. “I can help.”

Gîrakûn snorted. “Doubt it. It’s probably crippled. Can’t move it, tried in the night. It’s like the joint’s turned to ice.” His long-fingered hand gripped the swollen bone, dull eyes fixed on the ground.

“Let me try.” Fili ventured. “My uncle and Mama get stiff necks and shoulders all the time from the mines. It seizes up something fierce but it’s never permanent. You have to work the swelling on the muscles away and you’ll be able to move it in time. What d’you have to lose?”

“Pride, maybe.” Gîrakûn muttered. Still, he shuffled towards Fili all the same, turning so the bad arm was facing the dwarf. Fili bit a smile back as he unbuckled the leather strap, draping it over his lap and pulling at the bone toggles on the orc’s leathers. “Hey—”

“Let me, you won’t regret it.” Fili slowly pulled the clothing back, exposing Gîrakûn’s shoulder. He was right – the muscles were swollen and tender beneath that greyish-green skin, an ugly blackish bruise spreading like ink on the limb. Fili sucked on a molar in thought, his touch feather-light.

“Just... be gentle.” That flattish nose wrinkled in obvious self-disgust, and Gîrakûn turned his face away as Fili rested his broad palm over the curve of his shoulder. The orc was much thinner than Fili was used to – by his people, Gîrakûn had the body of an underfed urchin child, or an aged, near-skeleton of the very elderly. Fili knew, though, that by orcish standards, he was tall and strong, his lean frame packed with coiled muscle that was guaranteed to broaden out in just a few years. He would probably be one of those six-foot monsters that Thorin and Dwalin muttered darkly about, with hands like dinner-plates and biceps the side of an elf’s waist. But here and now, Gîrakûn was just a boy, old enough to venture out alone in the world but far from fully-formed. Like Fili.

He breathed in quickly and dug his fingertips right into a little knot in the hollow of Gîrakûn’s shoulder-joint, massaging the bruised and inflamed ligaments. The orc’s good hand found a gnarled tree-root and gripped it on instinct, a grunt of pain escaping his gritted teeth. “I know it hurts,” Fili murmured. “Mama swears blue when I do it to her but she always says afterwards that it’s much better.” Gîrakûn grunted again, his thin mouth all twisted up. “If it hurts too much, I’ll stop.” He promised, driving the heel of his hand into the plane of bone above the shoulder-blade. Fili wasn’t properly trained by any means, but as he felt the web of bone, ligaments, tendons and muscle slowly roll and shift under his hands, he guessed quite strongly that even though it was pulled and bruised, the veins burst and leaking beneath the skin, nothing was severed or torn. He couldn’t stand Fili’s touch if it was.  

“Does that feel better?” Fili asked after a while, when the muscles seemed softer beneath his hands and Gîrakûn’s little grunts of pain had faded away.

“Yeah,” he pulled the leather pieces of his clothes back up over his shoulder, staring at his knees. Gîrakûn cut an angular, solitary profile, with the thin lines of his mouth relaxed now, drooping. “Uh... thanks Fili.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dusk was cold and grey. An incoming frost breathed down Fili’s neck and left goosebumps racing across his skin. Gîrakûn did a short scout of the area and decided that it was safe enough to build a shelter and sleep on the ground. He went off with his knife and came back with armloads of ferns, which Fili wove into a crude bivvy, propped up with several sticks and low on the ground. Somehow they muddled through and by the time the light was fading, Fili crawled into a bed of dry leaves, using his vambraces as a pillow and taking off his coat and spreading it out over him. He slept with his head sticking out – for safety, he told himself, in case he needed to flee. Gîrakûn sat beside him on the first watch, hunched over in the dirt with his arm around his folded legs.

“Do you ever feel like you have the worst luck sometimes?” The corner of Fili’s lip stretched in something that could be called a smile. He rested his chin on his folded arms, lying on his belly and doing his best to keep his leg absolutely still. “I feel I do right now. Y’know, I wasn’t even supposed to be on that pass. I was in the village at the bottom, with my uncle and a few of our kin, when I got sick. Just a fever, I was never in any real danger, but it left me bedridden and weak for days. We were heading south, we’d been invited to attend the marriage of a rich lord in Fornost and uncle Thorin had to pay respects, considering what we trade with him. We had already cut it close and it looked like we’d miss it so I made them go on without me. I was laid up for nearly a week, and they sent a raven telling me the northern route had been covered by a slip in bad rain, and that it was too dangerous to go straight through the valley on my own.” Fili stared out into the blackness, listening to the orc breathe slowly against his side for a moment. “Are you, er, still awake?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. Well – I suppose I’m boring you.” Fili buried his nose into his folded arms. “You don’t want to hear how I wound up here.”

“Not particularly.” The orc said curtly. “It doesn’t sound like you were particularly unlucky. It sounds like you were stupid.” Like an admonished child, Fili listened in silence, hiding his face from Gîrakûn in the deepening shadows. “You wanted to show your uncle you were such a strong, brave dwarf, and could make it on your own. So you disobeyed him, thinking it would make you look impressive.”

“It was stupid.” Fili’s lips barely moved, and he could feel his face heating up, the warmth accentuated in the cold. “I was stupid.” His throat closed in a hard swallow. “But then – why were you on the passes alone?”

He heard a soft rustle of leaves and imagined that Gîrakûn had turned to look at him.“I wasn’t being disobedient, if that’s what you’re getting at. Unlike you, I listen to what my elders tell me. Look, I need to take a _bag_. Count to fifty and if I’m not back, run as fast as possible in the other direction.”

“A-All right.” He rubbed at his warm cheek, feeling his heart throb in a swell of humiliation. The orc disappeared in the shadows and Fili was left alone in the dull grey evening. With a little sigh, he pulled the thick coat higher around himself, trying to lose himself in the smell of his furred collar. For a moment, he was sure he could smell _home_ , leather-grease and coal, the tang of fresh-forged iron and smoke. It was still there, locked away, although Fili wasn’t sure if it was the tiny fibres of hair, or his memories, that harboured the smell. Gîrakûn was wrong; he was a stupid orc who knew _nothing_ about his home or his people.

Locked away in the subdued silence of his head, it was several minutes before Fili realised that he was completely alone. He’d forgotten to count to fifty, he didn’t know just how much time had passed, but he just knew it had been far too long. Reaching out for his crutch, he stood up carefully, threading his arms through the sleeves of his thick coat before limping slowly in Gîrakûn’s direction.

“Er, hello?” Fili hovered cautiously, peering through the thick weave of trees. The last thing he wanted to see was Gîrakûn’s pants around his ankles. “Gîrakûn– are you there?” Nothing. Somewhere, far away, a bird tweeted, the singular note cold and clear, getting down into his bones. Fili shivered, and suddenly emboldened, he strode on through the forest, keeping one eye on the shifting litter of leaves and broken branches beneath his feet. It was growing very dark now, and he didn’t want to lose his sense of direction. “Gîrakûn? How far did you walk?” He stopped, holding his breath and listening for a sign of life. “Are you mad at me, is that it?” Even the bird had stopped tweeting now. The only sound was a hollow rustling of leaves. “Hey, this isn’t funny!” Fili’s voice rose, heart starting to thud a little faster in his chest. “Is this a trick? It’s a trap isn’t it? I _knew_ you were going to stab me in the back when you got your chance! I shouldn’t have trusted you for a moment!” He shouted through the deepening gloom, gripping his crutch. “W-Well, you’re not going to get me you’re _not_!” A twig snapped behind him and Fili whirled around, heart thudding madly in his throat, but there was nothing there. “I’m not scared!” Fili shouted. “You think I haven’t fought off orcs before? You’re not the first and you won’t be the last! I won’t let you get the better of me again!”

“Fili?” He gasped, standing stock still at the thin, distant voice. “Fili – is that you?”

“Where are you?” Fili challenged, marching towards where he thought the sound came from, nerves on edge. “Come out and show yourself!”

“Please– help me.” The orc’s plaintive cry made Fili’s heart grow even tighter, caught between mistrust and worry for him. “ _Hurry_.”

“I’m not falling for your tricks, you know!” His slow, unsure steps turned into a stumbling march, his face set.

“Come _quick!”_ Fili’s mouth was dry as he picked up the pace, struggling as fast as he dared.

“You won’t lure me into a...”  Stumbling, Fili reached out for the nearest tree trunk, leaning against the bark with his forearm. “Trap.”

Gîrakûn was suspended by his ankle in mid-air about fifteen feet up, his unbound arm dangling uselessly. “Help!” He hissed, waving at Fili, the whites of his eyes gleaming through the growing darkness.

Fili limped towards him, staring up, arching his neck. “Mahal, how did _this_ happen?”

“Some sort of deer-trap, it was set in the low bushes.” The orc’s voice was low and urgent. “Fili– whoever set it could come back at any moment. Get me _out_ of here. Your knife was in my bag– it was knocked off.” Gîrakûn waved uselessly toward the ground. “I can’t climb up to free myself, not one-handed.”

Fili licked his lips. “There’s no way I can reach you on the ground.” Chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought, he took Gîrakûn’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Oh hell, I’m going to have to climb up and get you.”

“You can do it.” Gîrakûn tried to sound encouraging. “You made it all the way up that pine last night, you can do it again. Just _hurry._ Our predator will be back at nightfall to check his trap and we have to be as far away as possible.”

“I thought...” Fili rested his crutch against the trunk of the tree, his sentence wandering off as he realised he couldn’t quite say it. “Never mind. Give me a moment, and I’ll cut you down.” There was a branch three feet up that looked sturdy enough, but it groaned under Fili’s weight as he hauled himself up. Gritting his teeth as he jolted his broken leg, Fili paused, arms shaking with the strain. “ _Dammit.”_ He pressed his forehead against the rough bark, riding it out before continuing on.

“I’m starting to feel light-headed.” Gîrakûn murmured, turning slowly in natural momentum, otherwise unmoving. “I used to do handstands like this for a competition. Never won though.”

“Don’t lose your senses,” Fili begged, dragging his broken leg behind him like a dead thing, wishing it was removed of flesh and feeling. “Can you try and pull yourself up a little, just enough to keep your head up?”

“Not strong enough.” Gîrakûn’s voice was thick in the dim black air. “You think I didn’t try? No point in thrashing about when I’ll be free soon enough.”

“Just let me—”

There was a distant crash. Both the orc and the dwarf fell very still. Fili down at the vague shadow of Gîrakûn, eyes wide. “Hurry.” Gîrakûn murmured, his voice strained and soft, almost like a whimper.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Fili panted, although he picked up the pace, clambering until he reached the branch where he thought the rope was tied. “Just hang on.”

“Not going anywhere—” There was another crash, closer, the sound of branches being carelessly snapped in two. “ _Fili!”_

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Fili draped his bad leg over the branch and began to scoot forward, hoping his trousers were thick to stave off any splinters. “Just give me a moment.”

There were heavy, thudding footsteps, the sound deafening to Fili’s sensitive ears. Ten feet below, Gîrakûn groaned. “Trolls. Two of them. We’ll lose if we have to fight them, but they’re stupid enough to trick. Get me down, quick.”

“I’m there.” Finding the knot of ropes, Fili whipped out his knife from the goatskin bag. The footsteps were even closer now. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes._ Cut me down and I’ll take care of them. Just stay up there and _don’t_ move.” Fili licked his dry lips and sliced through the coarse rope, feeling it twist and fray beneath his touch until it snapped, and the orc fell with a soft _thump_ amongst the leaves.

“Gîrakûn?” Fili leaned down and tried to see through the tight weave of branches. “A-Are you there?”

He grunted, sounding in pain. “Just shut up and let me handle it.” His voice, after the bleary lightheadedness, went rough and harsh again, overcompensating for his fear and weakness. Fili opened his mouth to speak when a boorish groan rocked the sky. One of the trolls had arrived. The heavy thudding grew deafening, and Fili held his breath as the dark shape appeared below his dangling legs, the massive, foul creature muttering to himself and staring at the space where just a few minutes ago Gîrakûn dangled helplessly in the air.

“Ern– hey, Ern, the trap over ‘ere was set!” The troll’s voice boomed and Fili squeezed his eyes shut. Oh _please_ , please let Gîrakûn get away.

“Wot’s ‘at then? You get summat?”

“Thought I did fer a mo’, but nuthin’s ‘ere.” Fili bit down hard on his lip, leaning over as far as he dared as the second troll approached beneath him. “The rope’s gone.”

“I told yer, tie the knot _proper_ , but yer never listen do yer Bill? Must o’ slipped from the branch, we’ll find ‘er.” What if they found his crutch? Slow, hot horror rushed up Fili’s spine, his knuckles white on the branch as he willed the trolls to go away.

“It’s mighty hard t’ get—” A harsh, wounded cry interrupted the troll, one Fili had heard before when out hunting with his brother. It sounded like a wounded deer screaming in the distance. Fili bit back a heavy sigh of relief, daring to relax for just a moment.

“There, Bill! Get ‘em!” The ground shook as the trolls blundered towards the source of the noise. Another cry rang out, more distant; Gîrakûn was luring them away from Fili and their makeshift camp, deeper into the woods. He listened as the chase grew quieter, still not daring to shift from his treetop crouch. Even though his leg throbbed and there was an ache of exhaustion in his bones, Fili was alert, coiled and tense, listening out for the barest sound. An owl hooting from several trees over, a faint wolf-howl, the scurrying of rats on the ground, the creaking of branches in the chilly wind. He drew his coat closer around him with one hand, holding Gîrakûn’s bag close to his chest. A half-moon rose (it was late then, nearly midnight), beams of silver light as thin as fingers stretching out to touch him through the tangle of trees. The trolls’ voices had vanished, and so had the wounded screaming. How far would the orc try to lure them back? Would he be minutes or hours, weaving through the haphazard network of trees? What if he lost his way completely and wandered in circles all night, never finding Fili again?

What would Thorin do? Thorin would keep his head, never waver, never give in to despair. Thorin would fight back. Fili breathed in, felt his lungs burn in the freezing air. He tried to be brave. Inside the orc’s bag, he had the knife, the little flask of liquor and what was left of Gîrakûn’s jerky. Carefully, Fili examined the rest of its contents. He felt an empty waterskin, a flint, a small carved figure made from what felt like bone, a ball of dried sinew, a fishing hook, a thick needle and a fistful of dried hemlock twigs wrapped carefully in soft goatskin. He could survive with this, catch fish, gather water, light a fire. If he got to the river (which had to be easy enough, Fili reasoned. All he had to do was just keep going down the slope of the valley, and surely the water would be at the bottom), he could keep himself going for days, maybe even weeks, if nothing else harassed him in this cursed wood. He repeated it to himself, a mantra, as time passed and Fili remained alone up the tree, willing himself to believe it. He could do this. He had to do this.

The squawk of some night-bird jerked Fili out of his fantasies, and he bit back a scream as he moved his leg. He bent his head and clung to the branch, breathing heavily to try and ride it out. All his bravado failed him; the fantasies of living off eels and trout while he made his way downriver dissolved, and Fili was just a scared, trapped dwarf with a broken leg, too far from home and fighting back tears as he crouched in the dark. Being both alert and exhausted beyond comprehension had worn him down, bored holes in him and now he was bleeding out. This nightmare had gone and on and on and Fili seemed no closer to waking up. He was going to die out here, his bones carried off by wargs and trolls and clothes left to rot in this damp, mouldy earth. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t Thorin.

“Hey!” Fili cried out at the hoarse voice on the forest floor, a sour heartbeat pounding in his throat, that hot flash of terror giving way to relief as he recognised the shout. Gîrakûn had slunk as quiet as a cat back through the weave of trees and bushes and fallen logs, having given the trolls the slip. “Keep _quiet,_ will you? Hurry up and get down. We need to cover a lot of ground. They were stone-trolls so they’ll give up the chase in daylight, but I don’t want to stick around.” Relief sickened into dread and Fili’s face crumpled at the prospect of a long night like this, running and hiding, never stopping or looking back, just plunging through this endless forest, running from one danger to the next until something finally caught him. He felt the sting as his eyes welled up and the pressure grew in his throat until he was choking, and he pressed his face against the sleeve of his coat, feeling fur against his cheek.

"I said hurry up." Fili rushed with hatred and anger at the orc's cruel words, at his heartlessness. Gîrakûn was built for this, telling paths from dead ends through the indeterminable cluster of trees, going all day on a mouthful of dried goat while Fili lagged and stumbled behind. Dwarves were supposed to be tough, supposed to endure the deepest of wounds, but as Fili clung to the tree-branch, starving, desperately thirsty, exhausted and in a pain he could have never thought possible, he knew he couldn't go on like this. "Fili?" Gîrakûn hissed. "What the fuck is keeping you?"

"I can't." Fili moaned into his sleeve. He couldn't bear to move and jar his broken leg again, to push on through the night. "I c-can't."

Beneath him, Gîrakûn groaned. “Yes, you can. Come on, it's barely a climb." Fili shook his head, face still buried in the safety of his coat.

“I want to go home." It wasn't quite a sob, but Fili's voice still wobbled, empty stomach clenching and withering in humiliation and self-loathing. Through his pained gasps of air, he heard the orc kick at a broken piece of stick on the ground and curse in his foul native tongue.

"You think I don't?" Gîrakûn snapped. "What are you going to do, sit there and wait to be rescued? Your precious uncle isn't coming, Fili. Nobody is going to save you." Fili listened silently, biting down on the leather of his sleeve to prevent another embarrassing half-sob from bursting out. "Come on, _snaga,_ we don't have all night. Those trolls will realise eventually that they've been tricked, and I don’t want to stick around." But still Fili didn't move. His fingers felt frozen around the gnarled tree-branch, stiff and cold as rock. "Fine!" Gîrakûn lost his temper, stamping his foot. "You've been nothing but dead weight anyway. I'll move faster without you, arm or not. Keep my stuff if you want. It won't do you any good up there."

Dead weight. Fili stared down at the branches, feeling his heart pounding in his throat and through his head in deafening waves. He could hear the crunch of the leaves as Gîrakûn began walk away, terror doubling in his chest at the thought of facing this alone. Orc or not, Fili _needed_ him more than he'd ever dare to admit. Without Gîrakûn, Fili's death was a certainty.

“Wait." He croaked, words dry as dust in his mouth. “Wait— please.” The rasp of boots on leaves stilled. “Don’t leave me.” Fili inched backwards on the branch, gritting his teeth as every shift rattled his leg. This was high enough of a fall to break even more of his exhausted body, his other leg, his back, his skull, his hands and arms. Fili didn’t feel proud of his dwarvish bones, heavy as rock and hard as steel, as he crawled like a beetle along the tree. He felt fragile. Climbing back down was a battle and he had to stop every few moments and catch his breath, gauge his surroundings as he lowered himself hand over hand over foot in the thin moonlight.

Gîrakûn was waiting for him at the bottom, the the crutch tucked under his good arm. Fili caught his breath, elbow scraping the bark as he leaned against the trunk to steady himself. The wet tracks on his face had dried to a salty crust that cracked when he moved his face. He found he couldn’t look at the orc, couldn’t stare at that jagged outline and imagine the hatred and exasperation that would have twisted up his face, so he stared at the ground like a scolded child, even though Gîrakûn was yet to speak a word.

With a snort and a toss of his head, Gîrakûn roughly pushed the crutch into Fili’s chest and snatched his bag. Fili fell back against the tree and clung to it, felt the ridges of knife-carved wood in the dark. He wished the orc would hurry up and walk away, march off and leave him to stumble along behind the way he had for most of the day, throwing occasional insults over his shoulder. But Gîrakûn stood there and stared at him, sharp eyes making out details that Fili couldn’t see in this veiled moonlight. Fili hugged the crutch closed to himself and kept his head bent. All the insults and curses Gîrakûn longed to spit at him hung frostbitten in the air.

But he must have seen sense. Perhaps he realised that Fili was already fractured and breaking and the last thing he was needed was to be beaten down with more harsh words. Perhaps he just didn’t care. Either way, he turned and began to walk without another word, not looking behind his shoulder to check up on Fili, not stopping and letting him catch up. He didn’t even breathe heavily, just let out a little scoff every dozen or so steps. Gîrakûn set a brisk pace that Fili couldn’t quite keep step with. He had to squint through the darkness and sometimes he lost the orc’s shadow completely, following the soft rustle of his footsteps as he moved effortlessly through the ancient forest.

Fili had expected to march through the night, had braced himself for it, so when he stepped into a small clearing and saw the bivvy he and Gîrakûn had set up a few hours before, he froze, looking quite stupid as he stared open-mouthed.

“You’re no use to me like this.” Gîrakûn snarled. “Sleep. We march hard tomorrow. If we don’t find the river, we’re done.” He was right; they were both dangerously and desperately thirsty. Soon they wouldn’t be able to walk at all.

“But you said the trolls—”

“I’ll hear them coming for miles. Sleep. It’ll be dawn in a few hours.” Fili stumbled towards their bivvy in a daze, shrugging off his coat. His vambraces were still here, covered in a film of icy dew. The ground was damp but beneath the bivvy it was dry. He collapsed, too tired to feel his broken leg, too tired to feel guilty about keeping Gîrakûn awake. Within moments of curling up on the ground beneath his coat, Fili was asleep, too tired to dream.

* * *

Fili awoke with a loud crash over his head. He jerked up, throwing his coat off him and reaching instinctively for the empty sheaths on his belt. The soft, muffled dimness gave way to a stark white light pouring over his neck and shoulders, breath steaming from his lips. Gîrakûn had torn the the woven ferns of the bivvy away and they lay strewn across the ground. “Get up.” He’d touched his leg and now Fili clutched it and groaned, fighting the pain with a now well-practised stillness, teeth gritted. It was about half an hour after sunrise, if his judgement served him (but Fili didn’t trust his woodsman skills enough to be sure). The air was chilly; frost would have gathered, Fili was sure, if not for the tangle of tree-limbs above them.

Fili tried to blunder to his feet, keeping the broken leg straight out and absolutely still, but he slipped on the leaves and fell hard on his backside and elbows, crying out. Growling, Gîrakûn stretched out his good hand to him, pitching forward a little under the weight as Fili took it. “Thanks.” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Just lean against me and get dressed.” Gîrakûn gripped his shoulder and waited as Fili carefully threaded his arms through his coat and buckled on his vambraces, flexing his fingers in the freezing air and willing the blood to flow.

“Aren’t you cold?” Fili breathed into his cupped hands, eyeing the orc’s bare arms and knees. Gîrakûn only shrugged and handed Fili his crutch.

“We’ll warm up if we start moving.” Gîrakûn kicked and scattered the dry leaves across the ground to try and make it less immediately obvious. Fili took up his crutch and followed as best he could, negotiating his haphazard path winding through the gnarled roots and fallen branches. Although he’d been woken up abruptly and he didn’t get quite enough sleep, Fili felt undeniably better this morning than he did last night. A fresh flush of embarrassment surged through his chest at the memory and he found himself wanting to stumble out some sort of apology for the way he acted, holding them back yet again with his weakness.

So he did. "Look..." the orc didn't stop, "I'm sorry about last night. I was tired and... scared. I've never seen a troll before. I won't do it again." Gîrakûn kept walking, a stiff, mechanical march, looking ahead. He didn't say anything. He was angry, Fili realised, struggling along behind him. "I'm trying my best. I haven't done anything like this before, living wild, and my leg—"

"You can make excuses all you like." Gîrakûn sneered, not looking back. "You're still dead weight. No, you're even more useless. At least if you were dead, I'd have something to eat."

A cold trickle of fear made its slow way down Fili's spine, and he realised he was shivering. "You won't see a brass farthing from Thorin if I'm dead, Gîrakûn."

"I can't eat gold." Gîrakûn muttered. Fili's empty stomach was a knot the size of a walnut, so cramped he could barely breathe. Gîrakûn must have been able to smell his fear, because he stopped and turned back, his flattish nose all wrinkled up and eyes narrowed. “I thought you could help me, Fili. Don't make me regret not killing you."

Fili's throat was so dry and raw that he couldn't speak when he opened his mouth, and it had nothing to do with the lack of water. He coughed. "You won't." The words creaked out of him.

Gîrakûn scoffed and turned back to the string-thin path he was stamping out with his boots. "Good."


	4. Chapter 4

It was mid-morning when they stopped very briefly to eat. Despite the sun gleaming through the treetops, a chill lingered in the air. “Here.” Gîrakûn brought out the last handful of dried goat-meat, broke it in half with the help of his teeth, and handed Fili his share. Not thinking, Fili wolfed it down in an effort to quell the ache in his belly and bring life to his fading limbs. Gîrakûn snorted and shook his head at him, as one would an errant child, carefully took a mouthful of his own portion, and slipped the rest into his pocket.

The ground was damp and slippery with mud, and Fili struggled to keep pace with Gîrakûn. Thirst spurred them on; the year was waning, the days short and nights lengthening by minutes with each sunset. The two of them had four hours, maybe five, before they had to stop for the night, and at this slow pace they would be lucky to reach the bottom of the valley before then. Fili envied Gîrakûn’s lightness as wove through the trees, leaping effortlessly over tangled roots that for Fili was an agonising struggle. Although orcs were creatures of stone and darkness – like dwarves, Fili reminded himself – he seemed to melt into the dense shadows of the trees, as sleek and invisible as a cat. Often, Gîrakûn would shoot ahead, scouting out an easier path for Fili to hobble through on and come back, snarling at him to hurry up.

There was no more luxury of thinking about Gîrakûn, about his own family, about how to get out of this mess. Fili’s stomach already ached again, his head was swimming and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth, rasping painfully against the ridges of his gums. All he could do, all he could think about, was moving forward – foot, crutch, foot, crutch, hand on the tree-trunk, foot, crutch…

As the sun reached its peak above them, Fili stopped for air and rest. It felt as though his legs couldn’t go on supporting his weight; one more step and they would collapse underneath him in a haze of blinding agony. He rested on a massive fallen trunk, the broken leg stretched out before him and his crutch propped up at his side. Gîrakûn had gone on ahead slightly, but when he realised Fili had stopped following him, came back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He demanded. Fili sat with his head resting in his hands, breathing short and stilted. “Get up. We have to keep moving.”

“Soon,” Fili begged and lifted his head. “Please, I just need a moment–”

“We don’t have a moment!” Gîrakûn grabbed him by the elbow and tried to pull him back to his feet, but Fili was heavy and his one-handed grip was weak. “Don’t do this to me, dwarf. Not now.”

“My name is Fili and you know that.” He shot back through gritted teeth. “Just let me catch my breath.”

“Fili,” Gîrakûn lowered his voice and tried to sound calm. “You are moving _way_ too slow. We are not going to make the river by nightfall at this rate, and we can’t spend another night without water.”

“You think I don’t know?” Fili hissed. “I told you, I am _trying._ My leg is in two pieces and you want me to march like we’re in some bloody army! Just go on ahead if you’re so desperate for water.” Gîrakûn paused. “I’m only slowing you down, right?” Fili continued. “All you’ve said is that I’m stupid and useless and weak. If I’m so awful, then why don’t you just leave me behind?” He was working himself up with his impassioned rant, the colour rising in his cheeks as the resentment that had been building all day spilled out. “Why don’t you just kill me and have a feast if you’re not interested in the gold?” He took in a breath. “Admit it, Gîrakûn. You need me. You can’t do anything with one hand. You can’t gut an animal or tie a knot or weave a net, just like I can’t run and jump.”

Gîrakûn sucked in a gulp of air that hollowed out his already bony face, this string-thin mouth twisted in a scowl. With those blood-red eyes locked on him, he finally slung his bag down at Fili’s feet and sat beside him on the fallen log, looking sulky. It reminded Fili how young he was. “Five minutes.” he growled, even though neither of them had any way of knowing exactly how much time had passed. Fili nodded in agreement, staring with half-lidded eyes at a dripping fern growing through the roots of a gnarled tree-corpse across from them. Now he allowed himself the luxury of daydreaming, and it was about food - his mother’s thick, hearty stews brimming with the deer and rabbit Kili would sometimes bring home, fresh-baked bread slathered in knobs of butter, a side of cold salted pork with sharp, crumbly cheese...

After what felt like a few short moments but Fili knew was longer than the five minutes that had been granted, Gîrakûn stood up. “Come on,” but his voice didn’t have that same hardness behind it. Fili was glad for that. He staggered up, lurching uncertainly into a shaky rhythm – foot, crutch, hand on the tree, foot, crutch, foot, crutch…

At least there was some sort of softening between the pair of them, a recognition of their own weaknesses and failures. Snapping back seemed to make Gîrakûn respect him more, just the tiniest bit, and Fili didn’t feel as though he was quite so harsh and cruel to him. Despite that, Fili knew not to get cocky. Gîrakûn was an orc, an enemy who repeatedly threatened to kill and eat him, and he couldn’t for a moment lower his guard.

The shift to afternoon came with a dip in temperature. It was enough to get Fili to pull his collar as high over his neck as he could, burying his chin into the fur, and Gîrakûn walked with the hunched posture of someone fighting the cold. Ridiculous, Fili thought to himself as he watched the orc march on ahead, seemingly inexorable. Why didn’t Gîrakûn have anything else – a coat, a jacket, even just a fur to throw over his shoulders? Didn’t his mother care about him?

As the sun streaked through the west with a heavy, buttery gleam, Gîrakûn stood very still. Fili trudged along behind, a frown creasing his face as he watched the orc stand with his head cocked and eyes narrowed. “What is it you h–”

“Shh!” Gîrakûn hissed. Fili held his breath and tried to listen. The air was dead and still. There was no wind, no rustling of the leaves, no birdsong, no underfoot snapping of twigs beneath a small animal. It was like they were the only two people in the entire world. Then, as Fili strained to hear what the orc could, it slowly came to him – a distant whisper so soft that he wasn’t sure if it was real or just the blood pumping through his veins.

Gîrakûn took off at a sprint, whooping into the air. Fili gasped and followed with his own lopsided, staggering lurch, almost tripping over a slimy, moss-coloured root and landing in a half-dead bush. He heard the thud of running footsteps grow distant then lapse entirely, and just as Fili pulled up short, wondering if Gîrakûn was too far away to hear or if he’d fallen down some sort of slope, he heard the sharp, unmistakeable splash of water.

Gîrakûn was on his hands and knees in the river near a stony bank, drinking like an animal with his mouth underwater. He crouched in a shallow eddy about five feet across, sheltered from the rushing water that churned white over slippery, moss-green rocks. Fili staggered down, laughing, his heart singing at the gorgeous sound and sight of pure rushing water. Gîrakûn lifted his head, water dripping down his chin. "S'good." He panted. "So good." He took another long drink as Fili carefully got down on the stones, close enough to scoop the water up in his trembling hands. He lost half of it through his fingers and splashed more on his face than in his mouth. It was ice-cold and left his fingers and lips numb but nothing ever tasted so sweet, so delicious on his tongue. He couldn't get enough.

"Here." Gîrakûn fished the empty water-skin out of his bag, tossed into the shallows by Fili's hands, and kept on drinking. Fili eagerly uncorked the top and held the mouth underwater until the bladder was swollen and heavy. He refilled it twice and was still thirsty, his stomach groaning, bloated with chilly river-water. Gîrakûn sloshed up onto the rocks. He'd managed to get water all down his front, and he was completely soaked to his thighs and elbows. With a sigh, he flopped down on the rocks at Fili's side, wiping at his dripping face.

“I've never felt so full in my life." He announced, lying on his back and staring up at the treetops. Fili squeezed the last of the water out of the skin and held it in the river again.  "We're gonna make it." Gîrakûn mumbled with his good arm slung over his eyes. "We're gonna be all right."

"Still need food." Fili looked along the riverbank. Although Gîrakûn had found a way down to the water, there was no clear path he could see; jagged rocks, dense bushes and massive gnarled trees clustered near the river's edge made walking parallel to it impossible. “And somewhere to sleep."

Gîrakûn grunted, sat up and scanned the rocks with a scowl. He lunged forward, eyes on a patch of mud. The scowl deepened. “Warg-print," He announced and spat on the rocks. "Should have guessed. River's too convenient to get to. _Ishi!_ "

Fili looked at him in dismay. “We can’t leave already.” He was utterly wrung out, and the sun was dipping low in the sky. Finding the river meant stopping for the night. It meant rest. Fili just couldn’t bring himself to keep moving through this.

“Wait here.” Gîrakûn commanded, as though there was anywhere else Fili could go with his leg. “I’ll check for more tracks.” He arched his neck and looked at the gnarled trees, some hanging low into the water. “Or a better place to sleep.”

Fili shivered as he was left alone. His wet clothes clung to his skin, sucking the warmth out of him. His downy scrap of a beard still dripped, and he wiped at it with his wrist. Listening to the thrum of the river, Fili slowed breathed in and out, tried to think clearly. Warg or not, they were in a better position now than ever before. If they had to, they could go for a week or even two without food (well, _he_ could. Fili wasn’t so sure about the bony-looking orc), and now they had the river, there was a way out of this cursed forest without endless dead ends and back-tracking and walking in circles. Gîrakûn had abandoned his bag on the rocks and now Fili reached out and hugged it close to his chest, the water-skin in his lap. What was Kili doing now? Probably either mucking around at home, getting under their mother’s feet, or out in the forest, tracking a young buck, trying to walk whisper-quiet through the trees but inevitably stepping on some brittle twig and giving himself away. Kili loved the forest. He loved the way the light filtered through the leaves, soft and green, the smell of earth, the distant birdsong and the humming of insects, the endless wave of branches, the thrill of the hunt. Somewhat cynically, Fili wondered what would have happened if Kili was in the position. Part of him would have loved this; the chance to prove himself, the thrill of survival as this ancient, tainted forest tested his wits and strength.

No. Fili uncorked the water-skin and took another mouthful. Kili wouldn’t have lasted a day before he said or did something stupid and Gîrakûn cut his throat and strung him up like a pig for slaughter. He stared down at his dirty hands, the ridges of dirt beneath his nails. These hands were the only reason he was still alive.

“We’re in trouble.” Gîrakûn emerged through the trees.

“Did you find more warg-prints?” Fili looked over his shoulder and watched as he made his way back down to the riverbank.

“Worse.” The orc snarled, snatching the bag from Fili’s hands. “Deer-tracks.”

Fili frowned. “Er, how is that worse?” Gîrakûn slung the bag over one shoulder, and looked at Fili as though he’d just asked why water was wet.

“Because, _flagit_ , that means deer come here around dawn and dusk. And what do wargs love to eat?”

Fili’s heart skipped a beat. “Deer.” Gîrakûn nodded. “So we have to move.”

“Fast. We need to be out of reach before sunset.” The sun was gleaming orange in the west; they didn’t have much time. “Can’t we just get _one_ fucking break.” Gîrakûn kicked at a rock. It skidded across the bank and into the water, sending a ripple out through the swirling eddy.

“So we find another tree again.” Fili swallowed and tried to remain calm, collected, in control of his emotions. “Like the night before last. It’ll be a rough night, but–”

“Not these ones.” He pointed at the gnarled, slippery branches. “They don’t go high enough. We’d have to go half a mile back up the valley, into the conifers. Can you make it back by sunset?” Gîrakûn fixed a steely, blood-red gaze on Fili.

Fili looked past him and up through the dense forest they had just struggled through. The idea of doing it again, uphill no less, filled him with a dull, heavy sense of dread. “Uh,” He licked his lips. “Do we have any other option?”

“One.” Gîrakûn pointed to the water. “We cross the river. Warg’s won’t swim that far to chase us, the current is too strong.”

“Cross that?” Fili’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? With my leg? I’d never make it.”

“You would.” Gîrakûn lifted the flap on his bag and pulled out the coil of rope they had taken from the trolls. “I’ll go first and bring this guide rope over, tie it on, and you can hold on to that. Either that, or we go back up the valley and find tree to bunk down in. Up to you.”

Fili looked from Gîrakûn to the river, white with froth as it gushed over the sharp rocks. It would be relatively shallow, no deeper than his waist, and it was only about twenty feet across. There was a muddy bank on the other side, steep but not impossible to climb, exposed tree-roots snaking through the dirt and into the water. Then he looked back over his shoulder again and up through the forest. Already, the shadows seemed deeper, and the air felt a little cooler on his damp skin.

He held his breath. “The river.” Fili finally croaked. Not breaking his gaze for a moment, Gîrakûn nodded.

Fili was responsible for the knots. He tied one end around Gîrakûn’s slender waist and the other around a sturdy-looking branch that dipped into the water. His fingers were very cold, and it was hard to work the coarse rope into a tight knot, but Fili pulled hard and, satisfied, gave Gîrakûn the nod to go ahead. He waited on the bank, leaning on his crutch with the bag slung over his shoulder. Gîrakûn had found a study stick to test the water ahead of him, and he walked slowly, prodding at the water before taking a slow, cautious step.

As he reached the middle of the river, the water churned around his thighs. He stopped, wavering unsteadily under the force of the rushing water. “You can do it!” Fili called from the bank. “You’re halfway already!” His heart starting to race, Fili watched the orc negotiate another uncertain half-step through the water, faltering like a stalk of wheat in the breeze. Gîrakûn paused, appearing to consider his next move, before attempting another step.

And then the worst happened in a terrifying chain of events that occurred all in a flash. Gîrakûn slipped on the rocks, and as he faltered, the pressure of the current overcame him, pushed him into the water and sucked him under. As the rope was pulled taut, the knot on the branch that Fili had struggled with came undone, and with a cry of surprise, Gîrakûn was swept under.

“No!” Fili shouted and tried to stagger after him. “Gîrakûn!” He saw the bobbing of his dark head, the frantic flailing of a single bony arm, and then he turned a bend in the river and was lost. Fili stared, open-mouthed, his heart thudding desperately in his chest as he stared at the rush of water, as though Gîrakûn could somehow swim one-handed against the current and he would come back with some snarky comment about how Fili was too useless to even tie a damn knot and it was a wonder he’d bothered with him at all.

But he there was nothing. His mouth was bone-dry again, and Fili’s hand trembled on his crutch. “No.” He whispered again, shaking his head. His fingers curled around the wood and Fili inhaled deeply, looking at the slimy trees along the bank, the ember-red sun, the impassable river.

He had to move _fast_. Gritting his teeth, Fili clambered back up the bank, beyond the impossibly dense thicket of bent old branches but close enough to still hear the rush of water and catch occasional glimpses through the web of leaves. Biting back curses as he continuously jarred his leg, Fili headed in the direction he last saw Gîrakûn, following the curve of the river as it carried on down the valley.

“You bastard!” Fili furious at Gîrakûn for suggesting such a stupid, dangerous idea, but mostly himself for being unable to tie a simple damn knot. “You stupid bloody bastard!” Fili panted as he battled with the trees, going impossibly slowly to ever catch up. But he had to _try._ He couldn’t just shrug and move on. Not only because Fili had no way of making it alive without Gîrakûn, but because he didn’t want him to die. He’d never be so foolish as to assume that they were, or ever could be, friends, but the two of them seemed to have reached an agreement, a companionship of necessity. Gîrakûn was far from the worst person in the world to be lost in the woods with, and he did seem to have some sort of understanding, if not care, for Fili’s leg. The idea that Gîrakûn could be drowned, or bashed on those jagged rocks, left a strange tightness in Fili’s chest.

Finally, the trees thinned. The sun on the very edge of the horizon, and what patches of sky Fili could glimpse were grey, streaked with bronze and gold. He turned back towards the water and found it was possible, with a lot of painful ducking and clambering, to follow the river again. The bank was about four feet high and of naked dirt, too smooth for any handholds. The river was deeper and no longer rushing white, but the current was still strong, and as Fili stumbled along the bank, he saw bits of branches and broken sticks float past and out of his vision. Gîrakûn, he knew in the pit of his stomach, was long gone.

The shadows deepened as the sun sank into the earth and the copper-red light faded. Above Fili, the sky turned grey and purple, the first stars blinking awake in the twilight. He had to stop, had to find somewhere to hide for the night. He’d failed. Fili sat down near the edge of the bank with his head in his hands, whispering an apology that misted from his lips and vanished in the air. Fili listened to the tumbling and gurgling of water, the occasional, distant chirp of an insect, the rise of birdsong in the dusk. He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, lifting his head.

And through the increasing gloom, Fili caught sight of something that for a moment made his heart stop beating. Bobbing in the river and looking black against the faded grey of the water was unmistakably the rope that had come loose from the tree-branch and disappeared downriver, tied to Gîrakûn’s waist. Fili gasped and pulled himself to the edge, looking down. Draped over a fallen log too heavy for the current to move was Gîrakûn. One arm was thrown around the trunk, his head and shoulders out of the water and the rest floating behind him. He was unmoving. Fili leaned over as far as he could and called out his name, but there was no sign of life.

“Hang on!” Fili grabbed his crutch and stretched it out. He gently prodded Gîrakûn in the shoulder, and in response, there was a low murmur that could have been him, could have been the river itself. Still, Fili’s heart leaped. “I’ll get you,” he vowed, trying to hook the rope on his crutch and pull him up. It took several excruciating attempts, but finally Fili had the wet rope in his hands. Gritting his teeth, he began to slowly haul the body out of the water, hand over hand until he was able to reach out and grab his good arm and drag him over the bank.

“Gîrakûn!” Fili hissed. Twilight had settled in, and the shapes and outlines were growing dim and hazy. He touched the orc’s skin, drawing back. He was cold, colder than any living body Fili had ever touched, but he was certainly alive, although not awake. Gîrakûn shivered violently, like someone in the throes of a seizure, his teeth chattering in his skull. “Oh, hell.” Fili breathed, looking over his shoulder. Through the gloom, he thought he saw a safe haven – the hollowed-out space beneath a gnarled old willow, as the roots pushed out the dirt and left a hole just big enough for the two of them if they sat close.

“Hang on,” Fili wrapped an arm around Gîrakûn’s shaking chest and scooted back on his hands and knees, dragging the orc along with him. “Oh, you’re _so_ cold.” Fili pressed a hand on his forehead, crouched in the dirt beside the roots. There was only one way to keep him warm – the way he and Kili used to when they were very young and Mama didn’t have enough coal to keep the fire burning all night. First thing was to get these sopping clothes off. Fili had to rely on touch more than sight in the darkness. Carefully, he unbuckled the makeshift sling that kept Gîrakûn’s broken shoulder still. He groaned at the touch, the first sound he’d made, but his eyes were still closed, hands lax and still. “I know.” Fili whispered. “This is probably going to hurt.” Listening out for any predators, Fili stripped away as much of the sodden leather as he could, leaving enough for modesty’s sake, and shrugged off his own coat.

On second thought, he took off his heavy linen shirt too. Shivering in his undershirt, Fili pulled the linen down over Gîrakûn’s head, not bothering with the arms. It was too short, but loose-fitting enough, and it should help, Fili thought, to keep him warm. “Come on,” He rubbed his hands quickly up and down the orc’s chest to bring some life back into him. “Easy now, come on.”

Gîrakûn stirred. Fili may have imagined it, but he swore he could see the whites of his half-open eyes in the twilight. He groaned, the breath punctuated by his incessant shivering, trying and failing to move his arms in the dwarvish shirt. “F-F-Fili?”

“Shh.” Fili backed into the tiny space beneath the roots, his coat slung over his shoulder, dragging Gîrakûn under his armpits again. “‘Course it’s me. You’re _freezing._ Just shut up and let me get you warm again.”

“Y-You id-idiot.” Gîrakûn’s sharp teeth chattered, and his voice was thin and weak. “C-C-Can’t even t-t-t-tie a s-s-simple–” He broke off, groaning as Fili tried to fold his limbs like a piece of paper. Fili got Gîrakûn in his lap as best he could, legs pulled up to his chest and his bald head on Fili’s shoulder, but he just didn’t fit, and his long limbs kept spilling out. It was like trying to hold an oversized child, and Fili was awkward at first, hesitant to hold him close. Gîrakûn grabbed a handful of his shirt, fingers stiff and frozen. Guilt twinged inside Fili’s chest, and he wrapped his broad arms around the shivering body, drawing him in.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Fili drew his coat – calf length on him but just long enough to cover the bony lump of Gîrakûn’s shivering body – over them both, tucking the fur under the orc’s nose so he could breathe and holding it in place with his chin. "But I've got you now."

The tremors didn’t abate. Fili kept holding on tight, feeling beneath the linen and frozen skin the outline of his muscles and the knobbly joints of his bones. He felt unnaturally thin to Fili, on edge of starvation, but the memories of that mountainside fight were still sharp, and Fili knew that he his lightness was a weapon, and the swell of his biceps suggested he was stronger than he first looked.

It was undeniably awkward, the two of them pressed in so close in this earthy hollow like a litter of pups waiting for their mother to come back. What would Thorin say, he wondered, if he caught Fili with his arms around an orc like this? Rather than flushing in shame at the thought, a smile broke across Fili's face, invisible in the darkness. He’d almost like to see that.

The night went on, and it grew colder. Fili's eyes were heavy and he found himself nodding off from time to time. No, he admonished himself. He couldn't fall asleep. Gîrakûn had stayed up the night before, and now it was his turn. Gîrakûn still trembled, although his skin was no longer icy-cold to the touch, and he seemed half-delirious, occasionally mumbling to himself in his native tongue. The words were harsh and stilted and set the hairs up on the back of Fili's neck.

"Hey," Fili whispered. "If you're gonna talk, at least make it something I understand." Gîrakûn, in response, mumbled something lost in the fur of Fili's collar. “What was that?"

"'want my _Sha_." His breath hitched. Fili stared wide-eyed through the gloom.

“ _Sha_? Is that your Mama?" The bald head nodded. "Soon. As soon as we get out of this place, you can go home and you'll see her again."

Gîrakûn was shaking again, more violently than he did before. It took Fili a minute before he realised the orc was crying. “Gîrakûn?" He whispered awkwardly.  "Uh, you all right?"

“Can’t see her.” The orc breathed. “She’s dead.”

“Oh.” Fili winced in the dark. How was he even supposed to know? “Erm, I’m sorry.” He held his breath and listened for a reply, but Gîrakûn appeared to be asleep. Breathing in, smelling the damp earth around them, listening to Gîrakûn’s soft breathing and keeping his ears pricked for any other alien sound, Fili settled in for a long, lonely night.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Humble to a fault under his self-deprecating uncle, Fili only had a handful of moments in his moments where he considered himself to be genuinely proud; when he cast his first blade, when he wrote a poem for his mother’s birthday a year after he started learning to read, when he first knocked Dwalin down in a sparring game. Silly, childish achievements that had no real meaning behind them, but that Fili treasured more than any personal toy or token or trinket.

An hour before sunrise, Fili had managed to not only stay awake all night, but weave a small eel-trap out of supplejack and flax, working by touch in the dark. While sky above him lightened to a dull, steely grey through the dense thicket of tree-branches, Fili waited with his trap in the river, shoulders hunched and teeth chattering as he longed for his furs. Finally, the trolls’ rope jerked in his hands, and with his heart in his mouth, Fili hauled a sleek spotted eel up onto the grass and allowed a rare flush of pride to colour his face. He slapped the side of the creature, twitching and writhing as fresh-killed eels always did, feeling the soft slipperyness of its still-wet skin shift back and forth against his palm.

While the eel thrashed about on the grass, Fili checked on  Gîrakûn. He still slept, curled up like a cat beneath Fili’s fur-lined coat with his nose buried in the crook of his arm. His hands were still chilly, clenched into fists, and Fili did his best to tuck them in closer without waking the orc up. His own fingers were frozen. Fili flexed them in and out and blew on them, feeling his skin tingle as a cloud of steam rose in the air.

“It’s so cold.” He shivered in his thin undershirt, wondering how Gîrakûn could even sleep through this. Fili turned to the fish, occasion twitching, the mouth gaping, staring lifelessly up to the sky. A handsome catch, even after it had been cleaned and boned. It wouldn't last long like this, especially with nothing clean to cover it and keep out the flies. His hardened nut of a stomach twitched at the prospect of a feast, twitching around nothing. When he woke up, Gîrakûn would insist they got moving, and who knew how long it would be until they got another meal? 

That settled it. Fili dug around in the orc’s goatskin bag and extracted the flintstones, ice cold in his palm. Keeping quiet, he cleared a small circle of ground and built up a tiny fire, scurrying back and forth for dried leaves and bits of twigs. With a little low cursing under his breath, it soon sputtered to life. Fili nursed carefully nursed the flames, feeding it leaves and tinder until it breathed on its own. He spread Gîrakûn’s clothes out, still damp and starting to smell, as close as he dared to the fire, and with his knife, he cut up and cleaned the eel until he had two long fillets. It took some tricky manoeuvering with his leg, but eventually Fili was able to get the pale meat hanging over the fire on three tall sticks. The bottom six inches would be charred and the top would probably not cook through completely, but it was enough. Fili threw several handfuls of damp bark onto the growing embers, watching a cloud of blueish smoke billow outwards as the flames dulled down to the occasional flicker. It was still in these trees, with only the occasional rustle of leaves to suggest a breeze. He leaned forward on his elbows and sniffed, mouth watering at the smell. It was a very hackneyed, incomplete way to smoke a fish, but it was good enough with the tools Fili had, and it would certainly last longer like this than as a few raw steaks in the bottom of Gîrakûn’s bag. 

After an hour of smoking, Gîrakûn stirred. Fili heard the soft groaning behind him and started scooting backwards. “Hey,” He whispered. Gîrakûn groaned again in response, curled up in a tiny ball underneath Fili’s furred coat, head pillowed on his good arm. “Morning.”

Gîrakûn slowly got up on his elbow and blinked at the morning light. “F-Fili?” He shook his head, trying to wrestle free from the drowsiness.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Fili went on, risking a tiny smile. “Are you feeling better? You were so cold yesterday. I don’t know how you managed to hold on for so long.” But Gîrakûn wasn’t listening. He looked past Fili’s elbow at the fire and the smoking eel, eyes widening in alarm. 

“What the  _ fuck?”  _ He scrabbled out from under the coat, grunting in pain as he jolted his wounded shoulder. “What is wrong with you,  _ flagit?” _ Gîrakûn got up on his knees but Fili managed to catch him around the waist, holding his bony body fast.

“Don’t—  _ Don’t! _ ” Fili hissed, keeping the orc pinned. “I caught an eel this morning, Gîrakûn. I had to smoke it. They don’t last otherwise. We’ve got a week’s worth now, easy, to keep us going.”

“Until a warg or bear smells smoke and comes running.” Gîrakûn snarled back, eyes flaming. “ _ Ishi _ , is this you trying to  _ help _ ? What other idiotic ideas did you come up with while I was asleep, huh?”

“We’re stuck here anyway. You’re in no state to run anywhere and I can’t carry you.” Flushed, Fili glared down at him, breathing heavily through the jarring pain in his leg. 

“And whose fault is that?” Gîrakûn snapped. Fili bit his lip at that, stinging with contrition, and relaxed his hold.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, still horribly guilty. “I-I am. Really. I thought you’d been pulled under and I’d never find you. I’ll never flub another knot again, not for the rest of my life.” Gîrakûn wriggled free and sat up, cradling his wounded arm. “Please— forgive me, Gîrakûn. If you can. I won’t do it again.”

Gîrakûn looked down at what he was wearing and frowned, picking at the hem of the oddly-sized dwarven shirt, and then back at Fili shivering in his undershirt. “You put me in your clothes.”

Fili nodded. “To warm you up.” Still frowning, Gîrakûn stared at Fili, obviously trying to sort through what had happened last night after he’d been fished out of the river.

“Did you sleep with me?” He asked. “I remember someone holding me. I thought…” His face darkened at an uncomfortable memory, and rubbed at his tired eyes. “Doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“You were cold.” He tried to explain himself. “I just wanted to keep you warm. I stayed up all night, though, promise. It was frightening, actually, the way you carried on. Like you were sick with a fever, mumbling about this and that. I thought for a moment I’d lose you.”

“What?” Gîrakûn stiffened. “What did I say?” He looked cornered at that and he lashed out, baring his sharp, ugly teeth in a familiar snarl.

In his naive curiosity, his wanting to know more, Fili spread his hands out on his lap and fixed the orc with a soft, thoughtful, sympathetic stare. “You were talking about your mother.” The reaction was immediate; Gîrakûn shut down, turning his face away from Fili as he struggled to his feet, staggering to the fire. “Hey— No, don’t.” He begged, thinking that Gîrakûn was going to put out the flames. Instead, he kneeled down at his spread-out clothes, pulling Fili’s shift over his head and leaving it in a crumpled heap. “Leave the eel.” Fili grabbed a handful of leaves, staring at Gîrakûn’s naked back. The greyish, mottled skin was flecked with scars from what looked like fangs or talons; more jagged than a blade, less precise. He wasn’t sure if it was the signs of an attack or roughhousing with a pet or friend that had been a little too fierce. A few days ago, he would have assumed the former without a second thought. “Please?”

Gîrakûn shrugged on his leathers, carefully threading the broken joint through and fastening the belt one-handed. He drew his knees up and stared at the fire, brooding, his chin resting on a folded arm. Fili bore the stretched, painful silence for several minutes, watching the smoke furl lazily in the morning air, stomach straining at the delicious smell. “I’m sorry,” he said rather suddenly, wanting more than anything else just to fill the awkward silence. Gîrakûn stiffened. “About your mother, I mean. You told me she was dead. That must be awful—”

“Shut up, Fili.” Gîrakûn spat into the fire. “You’ve got no idea. So shut up.” 

 

* * *

It was a while before Gîrakûn considered himself good enough to walk. Obviously rattled from his near-death experience, the orc was unresponsive, eyes glazed and unfocused. They ate the soft, fleshy head of the eel, where it was still a little undersmoked, and cut up and wrapped the rest in the broadest leaves they could find, tied with strings of flax-fibres. Eating seemed to soothe Gîrakûn; he seemed less hunched and distant, although he still couldn’t look at Fili and gave short one-word answers. He let Fili massage his sprained, swollen shoulder before rebinding his arm, tapping his free hand against his leg and keeping his eyes on the ground. 

They finally set out at mid-morning, following the bend of the river through the bent old trees. There was no question of crossing the water again.  Fili had given up on Gîrakûn revealing more about himself, at least for today, and focused all of his energy on the forest, listening out for the distant cries of wild animals and searching for tracks. When there was a plant or bird he didn't know, Fili called Gîrakûn and pointed it out, asking for a name. Fili met the orc’s wry sarcasm head on and pointed out that he knew fifty different kinds of rocks and gems and minerals. Gîrakûn kept his comments to himself and for a while was even civil to the dwarf as they made their way through the trees, although he never spoke unless prompted.

Sometimes they had to make their way back up the valley and then come down again, taking the path of least resistance, but the pair always stayed close to the river, keeping the bubbling and gurgling water within earshot. It was that erratic, changeable time of year where the weather shifted from day to day. The air warmed, sun streamed through the trees, and Fili even carried his coat over his shoulder and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. It a mellow day, with birds twittering and only the occasional thin cry of some distant wild beast to suggest any ill will. But such dry, sunny days often brought cold nights, and as the sun went down and Fili curled up beneath a hastily-made bivvy, he entreated Gîrakûn to take his coat while he bedded down in a nest of leaves and pine needles. Although he was exhausted, Fili found himself staring wide-eyed through the dusky gloom. He lay on his side with his legs drawn in and arms cradled close like a foetus, nose filled with the smell of mould and dirt. 

“My father’s dead.” On an impulse, Fili started to speak. “He died when I was little, when my brother was just a baby. He died the same day as my grandfather and great-grandfather and uncle Frerin. Same battle, on the doorstep of Moria. The ravens made it home before uncle Thorin did to give us the news.” He got up on his elbow and studied Gîrakûn’s outline in the deepening shadows. “My Mama— she was crying and crying, and I didn’t understand why. She cut off all her hair, then sat me down and told me I had to cut mine. I even had to shave, not that I had much yet. Her hands shook, and she cut me. It wasn’t deep, but I got an awful fright. I was too scared to even cry. I didn’t know what was going on. And she threw it on the fire, her hair and mine, and it filled our house with the most awful smell, and then she told me that none of them were ever coming home again, that they had been killed. You know — that’s what comes to mind when I think about all of them — Papa and Grandpapa and Grandad and uncle Frerin, more than their faces, or their voices, or any words that they said. Just learning that they had died, and the smell of burning hair.” 

Gîrakûn said nothing, and Fili wasn’t sure if he heard or imagined a sharp intake of air. “Were you little, too, when you lost your mother?” Fili’s toes curled as he asked the question, holding his breath as though he braced himself for a blow. “Can you remember her properly?”

The outline of Gîrakûn shrivelled in the darkness as he hunched in on himself and put his head in his hands. “She died a month ago. So what do you think?” He spoke dully, his voice low and dead. “Shut the fuck up and either take the first watch or go to sleep, Fili.” 

Fili squeezed his eyes shut without another word, burrowing mole-like into the dirt. He breathed in and out slowly, feigning sleep, listening as after some time Gîrakûn gave way to short gasps of air, heavy from the pain of a wound that was so very far from healing. 

 

* * *

It wasn’t until late next morning that Fili and Gîrakûn hit their next hurdle. They had been making reasonable pace along the bank of the river when the distant growling of some animal scared them up a tree for a good hour. They played idle guessing games in whispers, facing each other and leaning against the tree-trunk, falling silent when the snuffling grew close and sighing with relief when it faded. Gîrakûn even smiled once in triumph when Fili failed to guess what animal he was thinking about and gave up. There was a fresh easiness as they made their way down the tree, Fili lowering him down with the troll-rope, his strong, dwarvish arms easily bearing the weight, and Gîrakûn shouting directions and pointing out handholds from the ground, mindful of Fili’s leg. 

In the afternoon, it began to rain, pattering through the trees and turning the ground beneath them to mud. Gîrakûn was keen to go on but quitted the march after the rain grew heavy and Fili’s crutch slipped. They took shelter at the foot of a broad old oak, using Fili’s waterproofed leather coat as a makeshift tent, pressed close together with their legs curled against their chests. Fili leaned his temple against Gîrakûn’s shoulder and Gîrakûn let him, resting his chin on his kneecap, watching the puddles grow in the bootprints they’d left behind in the mud. 

“Are we close, do you think?” Fili mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. The endless marching on very little food and almost no sleep left him in a state of constant fatigue that sank down into his bones. He couldn’t go on like this. “I can’t wait. I’m going to eat a whole leg of lamb all by myself, then sleep for a week. And then I’m going home. I never want to have another adventure ever again.”

“The heir of the great Thorin Oakenshield, housebound.” Gîrakûn muttered wryly. “You’d get a laugh out of that.” 

“I think I’ll fall down dead before we even get out.” Fili admitted, quiet and gloomy. “I’ve never been this tired, ever.”

Gîrakûn shrugged. “So was I, at first. But you get used to it.” Fili lifted his head and looked at him with a little frown in this close distance. 

“How long have you been out by yourself?” He asked softly, treading carefully on this untested ground after having been stung so many times before. “Coming through the wild?”

“Can’t tell exactly without seeing the moon.” Gîrakûn replied. “About a month.” He worried his lower lip between those sharp fangs, drawing his arm tighter around his folded legs and hunching away from Fili, not looking at him. 

“When your mother died?” He guessed, and from the way Gîrakûn stiffened, the angle of his jaw shuddering, guessed correctly. 

“You don’t give up, do you?” He growled. “Why are you so damn nosey? You like this all the time?”

“I want to know.” Fili said softly. “I-I mean, we’ve saved each other’s lives plenty now.”

“So I owe you, is that it?” 

He sighed. “No. It’s not about…” His hair was hanging over his face, and Fili pushed it back so he could see Gîrakûn properly. “It’s better when we get on. I want to trust you, Gîrakûn. And you can trust me, you know that?”

Gîrakûn finally turned to look at him. “You mean you wouldn’t stab me in the back if you got the chance?” One eye slightly widened; it he had an eyebrow it would be arched, almost sarcastic. 

“No.” Fili spoke honestly, but still couldn’t resist a joke. “Not unless you tried to kill me first.” Gîrakûn chuckled at that and shook his head. 

“I’m not going to kill you.” Gîrakûn muttered. “You’re more useful than I first thought.” 

“Thanks.” Fili grinned back. “And you’re less frightening, once you, you know, calm down a little.” Gîrakûn’s smile faded, and he went back to staring out at the ground again.

“I ran away.” He finally spoke, voice on the edge of a whisper. Fili listened, heart thumping. “Our father was the head of our clan — about a hundred orcs, mostly living in tunnels we’d built in the side of this valley. We controlled a forest — stretched about ten leagues north and twice that east. It was good. We didn’t make war with anyone, and there was enough food for everyone to go around. Couldn’t farm under the trees, but we’d trade deerskins for grain.” A tender wistfulness softened his face. “There were twelve of us — my father, his three wives, and eight children. Big family. He was proud. Then about a year ago…” He ran his grey tongue over his lower lip, “this wandering band of mercenary orcs came to us. Said that these lands were declared to be the domain of some orc-leader called Gothûrz, and we had to pay tribute or it would be burned to the ground. We’d heard about what they’d done to others through merchant traders, and there was no way of denying them. My father agreed, but the costs started mounting — they wouldn’t take meat or animal hide, only silver, so we had to make expensive trades to cover it. Eventually, it got too much. My father couldn’t pay the monthly tribute, and they sent a band of soldiers down on us. I didn’t fight, my mother said I was too young, but my two older brothers did, and my father. A-And they lost.” 

Fili didn’t dare to speak. Gîrakûn took a deep breath before continuing. “And they took everyone from their homes. You know how it goes in all the stories and histories; slaughter the men and the sick and the old, keep the women and children for slaves. Some of us, we escaped and managed to hide in the woods. The soldiers hunted us down, and my mother told me to run while she fought them off. I managed to look back, just in time to…” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes. “No one else made it out. Least not the route that I took.”

“I’m so sorry.” Fili whispered, stricken. “I— I had no idea.” Gîrakûn sniffed but didn’t say anything, looking embarrassed and angry at his weakness as he stared at the ground. “Do you have any other family?”

Gîrakûn shrugged. “I’ve got cousins somewhere. An aunt that was married off when I was little. Don’t know where any of them are.”

“Where are you going now?” He asked. “Are you looking for them?”

“Nah. I’ll never find them.” Gîrakûn rubbed at his face again and cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, heading south. There’s hundred of tribes and clans in the Misty Mountains. Figure it’s as good a place as any to try and make my own way.” He looked over at Fili again. “And if you badger me about any of this again, I’ll thump you, all right?” 

“Got it.” He agreed. 

Gîrakûn sighed, peering up at the sky. “Besides, rain’s slowed up. This isn’t a good place to camp down. We should get moving again, find something better.”

Fili shrugged his coat back on and Gîrakûn helped him up. They made their way in silence through the mud, keeping close to each other, looking around at the slightest rustle of leaves or flutter or wings. All the while, Fili thought about the story Gîrakûn had just told. He had no reason to doubt him and didn’t believe at all that it was false, but it cast a new light on their first meeting, when Fili suggested a ransom for his return. Had Gîrakûn ever intended to hold Fili as some sort of captive? Was he ever interested in gold when he had no home to take it back to, no family to share it with? Would he risk it, a lone boy up against a dozen battle-hardened dwarves? 

There was something terrifying about the open-endedness of his story, and Fili couldn’t shake it from his mind. That uncertainty, not knowing where he was going or what he was doing next, just carrying on, taking everything day by day and shutting out the past; Fili couldn’t comprehend ever doing that. The thought of something happening to his mother, to Kili, it sent a cold prickle of terror down his spine. He remembered what he’d said before, about how he wanted to go running back to his mother’s arms and never leave home again, and shame coloured his face. And Fili thought about everything he had done and the mistakes he’d made, the time he completely froze up and had been reduced to tears in his pain and terror.

That wouldn’t happen again. He made the promise to himself beneath the eaves, listening to a bird screech above them. He’d be stronger than before, braver, more clever. Fili couldn’t help but think about Kili again, flashing his stupid grin and cracking his stupid jokes, with snatches of Gîrakûn’s story echoing in his mind. He missed his brother so much that it hurt. Fili resolved to hold onto that and use that image to drive him on. He would make it home to see his family again. He wouldn’t leave them alone like this. 


End file.
